Romance must advertise
by Miss Puppet
Summary: Not daring to risk his friendship with Elsie, Charles decides on a rational approach to find love. Isobel has began a scheme of her own and Richard Clarkson is dealing with some regrets. Let it never be said that Downton is a dull place.
1. Prologue

**Romance must advertise  
><strong>_Rated_: K+  
><em>Pairings<em>: Carson/Hughes, Isobel/OC  
><em>Disclaimer: <em>It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network. This disclaimer applies for the whole story.  
><em>Spoilers<em>: The story is set in season 1, so no spoilers for season 2.  
><em>Summary<em>: Isobel decides she´s not quite old enough to retire to her rocking-chair and Charles resolves to sensibly and rationally find his way to love. Much madness ensues. C/H, I/OC  
>The title is a spoof from Dorothy Sayers´ wonderful <em>Murder must advertise<em>, but bears no semblance to the story.

_A/N__**: **__Don´t take this seriously, it´s mostly crack!fic. But I need some relief from the angst!fest season 2 is turning into. So join me back to a time where life was still simple and peaceful and the family was away to enjoy the Season so the staff has time to pursue their own (romantic) interests. _

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

He must be going soft in the head in his old age. There really wasn´t any other explanation for the downright ridiculous endeavour he was undertaking at the moment. Folding another sheet of paper into a ball and throwing it in the direction of the trash bin he resisted the urge to chew on the back of his pen, while he contemplated the words he was about to write down.

Part of him was exasperated with himself that it had come to this. If Elsie knew, she would… well, she wouldn´t exactly laugh at him. She was far too kind to do that, but she would roll her eyes at him and shake her head. She would look at him, her thoughts as obvious as if she had spoken them out loud. _You´re an old fool…_ He already suspected that particular thought crossed her mind regularly, his present actions would only confirm it thoroughly.

She was his closest friend at Downton, or outside of it for that matter. He trusted her blindly and he confided in her with whatever was on his mind, either good or bad. He knew they made a good team, years of working closely together had seen to that. She had come to Downton as Head housemaid when he had just been appointed as butler. At first he had kept his distance from her. He´d been rather full of himself at that time, firmly believing that it wouldn´t do for the butler of Downton to become friendly, let alone romantically involved with a member of staff. Apart from that, he feared he didn´t stand a chance. She´d turned quite a few heads during her first years. The second footman had followed her around like a love-sick puppy and the first footman had declared it to be his pursuit to ´win her over´ before the year was out. All of sudden the village´s merchants had all insisted on personally delivering their goods at the servants´ entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Even some of the male visitors of Lord Grantham professed their interest, much to his dismay.

He had stayed away, had huffed and puffed about the indignity of it all, all the while trying very hard not to think about the effect her Scottish accent was having on him. As the years had gone by he had mellowed down a bit, although he was certain many of the younger staff would beg to differ on that. His overly stuffiness and dedication to rules and propriety, infused by his sense of shame of his past in the music halls, had lessened considerably and he managed to find a steady balance between the butler and the man.

Then Elsie had become housekeeper and as such they had grown closer together, first as colleagues and later as friends. Her companionship had dispelled much of the loneliness he often felt, although he was reluctant to admit he felt so, even to himself. He found her to be one of the most interesting women he had ever met. During his years at the music halls he had met his fair share of women, even had a few brief affairs, but none of them really appealed to him in a deeper sense. Between keeping Charlie Grigg in check and the fact that most of the women he met on and off stage were as mad as a fruitcake, he hadn´t found his match there. During his first years of being a butler he had been so focused on his career that even the thought of pursuing a woman, of wining and dining them appeared laughable to him. By the time he had started to entertain the thought of doing just that, much spurred on by growing attraction to her, he had discovered that in the eyes of the world he was a confirmed bachelor, rather past the chance of romance.

It had killed whatever nerve he had and in the months that followed he began to realise that the fear of losing the friendship with her that he had, outweighed his eagerness to discover what could be between them if he were to act on his interest. So he held back and invested in their friendship instead. And as the years went by he had been content with his choice. He valued her above anyone else he knew. She was his voice of reason, his unwavering supporter and his dearest friend.

He was content and very much so, although sometimes, especially late at night when he was tired from a long day´s work and his defences were low, the old, familiar feeling of longing would stir inside him. He would walk in the servant´s hall, bleary-eyed with tiredness, barely able to keep an upright posture and she would be waiting for him with tea or soup. He would sit and eat, already half asleep, and she would bustle around the kitchen, cleaning or tidying away, humming a tune or talking softly, her voice just a little hoarse from being tired herself, her accent just that bit more pronounced. He would watch her, gaze at her more like, thinking it would be so easy, so natural to grab her hand and draw her close. To tell her without ceremony how he felt, how he´d felt for her for so long.

But he never crossed that barrier. In the end he always wished her goodnight and went to bed alone. And in the stark light of a new morning he shook his head and berated himself for his foolishness. Told himself to be grateful for what he had: her friendship and the knowledge they would in all likeness grow old together.

So what had changed in the last months? He wasn´t really sure himself. It had started in the months after the Titanic had sunk. He wouldn´t go as far as to presume he knew the people on board who had died, but the fact of the matter was that he had known them on some level. As family and friends of Lord Grantham he had waited on them, observed them and served them. The knowledge that all those fine young men had died in the icy water of the Atlantic ocean had filled him with a newfound reverence and appreciation for his own life. And because he was Charles Carson, this reverence had quickly turned into a sense of duty. If he was still alive, when so many men in their primes had lost theirs, then he was bound to do something with it.

After the death of Patrick Crawley, the heir of Downton, finding a suitable for match for the eldest Crawley daughter, Lady Mary, had become a matter of utmost priority. He watched with a protective interest as the many suitors filled the house, deeming none of them really worthy of her. But it got him thinking. There was a certain conviction to the idea that one´s happiness in life was entirely related to the question whether or not one had managed to secure a spouse. At least it appeared so to the members of the aristocracy. And although he knew his rank and station, it left him wondering if his ´happiness in life´ so to speak would increase greatly if he was to find a wife.

It would certainly be nice to care for someone who belonged to him, opposed to caring for people he belonged to. It would be nice to be cared for. And while his heart still conquered fantasies of brown eyes, dark curls, a death-panned wit and small smiles that only came to life in the fore-mentioned eyes, his mind took a more pragmatic approach. He would sensibly and rationally find his way to love.

If only he could stop feeling so foolish. He still couldn´t quite believe it. He, Charles Carson, the dignified butler of Downton Abbey was drafting an advertisement for the lonely hearts column.

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><p><strong>I´d love to hear what you think!<strong>


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews and alerts! I hope you like the new chapter and don´t find the characters to be acting *too* out of character.  
>Also many thanks to <em>**stuckinpast** _for beta-reading!_

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><p>Chapter 1<br>**The business of drawing up an advertisement  
><strong>_Early April 1913_

The family had left for London to enjoy the Season at the beginning of June, allowing Elsie to take some much needed rest and afforded her the chance to spend time with her new friend, Isobel Crawley. Although surprising to some extent, a friendship between them had developed quickly and the mutual satisfaction they both received from having a female confidant soon dashed every question of whether or not it was entirely appropriate.

Shortly after the arrival of Mrs Crawley and her son Matthew, their most senior member of staff, Mrs Bird had taken a leave of absence for a month to take care of her ailing mother. Isobel, who had been used to running her own home with only the help of a maid, hadn´t been overly bothered by it. But upon Robert´s suggestion, she had agreed to meet with the Downton housekeeper regularly, to help her settle in to live at Crawley House.

Over the course of a few weeks they soon discovered they shared many interests and views and generally got along very well and soon their meetings that were scheduled for an hour, lasted all afternoon. Isobel Crawley felt the loss of her life in Manchester greatly. The village of Downton was alien to her and although her work at the hospital soon provided her with a sense of fulfilment, she remained feeling a little lost. She missed her friends and a sense of belonging somewhere. She didn´t quite belong to the aristocracy, nor strictly to Downton´s middle class. It left her in a bit in the dark and she couldn´t help but to feel grateful for finding an ally in the form of Elsie Hughes.

For Elsie it meant that she now has someone to talk to on a regular basis that wasn´t directly related to Downton Abbey. Of course the strings were still there, but Isobel wasn´t an employer, a colleague or someone under her jurisdiction and she found it refreshing to be able to talk to someone while leaving the housekeeper behind her. It wasn´t until now that she realized how greatly she´d missed having a female friend.

With the family away now and much more free time on her hands, the two of them would meet up regularly, either in her parlour or at Crawley House. On this beautiful spring evening they were sitting on the porch in the garden of Crawley House, a large pot of tea between them.

´I have an idea,´ Isobel began after a lull in the conversation. ´It´s been on my mind for some time, but I´d like to hear your opinion about it.´

Sitting up a little more straight, Elsie´s interest was immediately piqued. ´Tell me about it.´

´Feel free to tell me I´m a complete lunatic,´ Isobel started again, ´but I´ve been thinking. I´m tired of being alone… of being a widow.´

Elsie knew her eyebrows were frowning into quite a knot. ´And… you wish to remedy that situation?´ she asked tentatively.

´I flatter myself to think I´m not so past it that I can´t have love or romance in my life anymore,´ Isobel answered with a stubborn flare in her voice. ´And I´m not yet ready to retire to dozing in a rocking chair behind the window of my parlour.´

Despite her shock Elsie snorted at the picture that sprung to her mind. ´I don´t think anyone associates you with that already. From what I´ve heard Dr Clarkson is still recovering from you shaking him out of his cautiousness during the incident with Mr Drake.´

Isobel smirked in response. ´From what I´ve gathered over the past months, Richard Clarkson is quite capable of creating excitement in his life himself.´

Returning to their previous topic, Elsie couldn´t help the incredulously that still tinged her voice when she asked: ´Do you really consider looking for romance again?´

Isobel laughed out loud. ´You certainly look scandalized at the notion. But yes, I would like to form an attachment again. Not at all cost… Reginald and I were very happy together and I will not settle for anything less then what I had with him. But if I were to meet someone I would certainly not pass up the chance to be happy again.'

Blinking slightly, Elsie realized Isobel definitely took a different approach on life then she did. Her elder sister Edina had married at seventeen to a local farmhand and given birth to eight children in the span of twelve years. She on the other hand had gone into service, wordlessly given up her chance to marry and have a family of her own. But here she was sitting across from Isobel Crawley who was more than happy to embrace a second chance of happiness.

´You know… Reginald and I discussed this when we were working in South Africa,´ Isobel continued with a soft smile. ´With the war raging and the infections in the field hospital spreading like mad we both knew that there was a chance we wouldn´t make it back to England together. We promised each other we wouldn´t let ourselves waste away, but to actively try and be happy again.´

´What was Africa like?´ Elsie asked curiously.

´Hot,´ Isobel replied drily. ´And filled with horrendous bugs. Some were the size of a cat.´ She shuddered at the memory, but then her face turned somewhat dreamy. ´It´s a beautiful country though. It´s so different from Britain, you wouldn´t believe it. I loved the freedom there. I could be who I wanted to be. No class restrictions. Just Reg and me in our hospital. He taught me everything I know, every surgery, every procedure… when we got back to England I was floored to discovered that I wasn´t supposed to be able to do half of what I´d become capable of.´

She shook her head ruefully and pulled her shoulders back. ´However, back to the subject of actively trying… I have this idea! And again – feel free to tell me I´ve lost my mind!´

The glint in her eyes warned Elsie that whatever this idea was, it certainly would be something… adventurous and she felt a nervous twinge in the pit of her stomach.

Meanwhile Isobel pulled out a copy from ´_The Woman´s Magazine_´ and placed it on the table. ´Look at this…´ she started, leafing through the thin pages. ´Now where was it… oh here: personal ads!´

Elsie looked at her friend as if she had grown an extra head. ´You´re considering wh- what?´ she eventually managed to breath.

´A personal ad!´ Isobel explained cheerfully. ´You put in an ad in which you tell a little bit about yourself and state your preferences. Mind you, it´s a bit of a squeeze, squeezing it in three lines, but you´ll just have to be creative.´

´And are you certain it is quite safe?´ Elsie asked, doubt evident in her voice.

´Very much so,´ Isobel didn´t appear to be bothered on any account. ´You don´t even have to give up your name if you do not wish to do so. The magazine acts as a sort of go-between. Anyone who´s interested sends their responses to the paper, who will forward them to you and you send your replies to the magazine, unless you decide to give your address to the person you´re corresponding with directly. Unless you choose to relate personal information about yourself, the person you´re writing to doesn´t know a thing about you. So in case he turns out to be a complete nut, you don´t have to worry about him showing up at your doorstep. It´s perfectly safe.´

´I can´t believe you´re seriously thinking about doing this,´ Elsie commented, shaking her head slightly.

´Well, I happen to think it´s a very prudent solution,´ Isobel answered easily. ´Think about it, I´ve been here for almost six months now and even if I did meet someone I´d like to get to know better, there´s the hassle of gossip. Meeting someone through an ad might not be very romantic, but it´s definitely practical.´

Realizing her friend had made a solid point, Elsie nodded slowly. ´So you´re determined then to advertise?´

´I am now!´ A look of excitement crossed Isobel´s face and Elsie couldn't help but laugh. Her laughter soon turned to alarm though when Isobel asked: ´I suppose I can´t convince you to join me in this endeavour?´

Elsie almost spilled her tea at that. ´Oh no!´ she exclaimed vehemently. ´Not a chance! Some of us would like to remain employed. And besides that… if anyone would ever find out… O´Brien or Mrs Patmore would never let me live it down. And think about…´ Elsie swallowed the rest of sentence quickly, but unbidden an image of Charles Carson´s scandalized, incredulous face came to her mind and she felt herself blushing. ´Not a chance!´ she repeated even more determined.

She found that Isobel was watching her closely. ´Have you ever considered… I mean to say, don´t you ever regret…?´

´You mean to ask if I regret never having married?´ Elsie finished for her. She pondered on the answer for a little while.

´Sometimes I do,´ she answered eventually. ´I´m very content with my life, but sometimes I feel it would have been nice to have a husband and a home… perhaps even children.´

´Why did you never settle down with anyone?´ Isobel asked gently.

´It´s a case of mismatched opportunities, I´m afraid,´ Elsie replied resigned. ´Once upon a time a man was interested in me. He was a good man, but I wasn´t really interested in him. Then I met someone I was _very_ interested in, but he didn´t look twice.´ She smiled at the look of sympathy that crossed Isobel´s face.  
>`So now you know why I´m still the housekeeper.´<p>

Shaking her head to disclose the feeling of melancholy that suddenly seemed to have enfolded her, Elsie peered over the rim of her teacup at Isobel, her curiosity flaring again. Although she would never, in a million years do something so outrageous herself as to advertise for a companion, she couldn´t help but admire Isobel for her courage and feeling secretly glad to be sitting on the first row so to speak to watch as the events unfolded.

´What will you put in your ad?´ she asked eagerly.

´Well, that´s where you come in,´ Isobel replied. ´I have been puzzling on it all afternoon – but I can´t get it right. Three lines is so very little that the question tends to be: what not to put in the ad?´

´In that case,´ Elsie pondered out loud, ´perhaps you should start by listing what you don´t want in a suitor.´

´Oh, that´s easy enough,´ Isobel replied and without even taking a breath in between she started to rattle her list: ´he can´t be condescending. I can´t stand a man who´s acting condescendingly.  
>I don´t like them very short. Let´s be honest, if he is shorter than me, I´d be courted by a dwarf.<br>I´d say personal hygiene is rather high on my list as well, so no dirty fingernails. And clean breath too… overall I find a good body-odour highly pleasing. I don´t like men who drink or gamble or are solemnly into sports. He shouldn´t be feeble- minded, or else he´d never put up with me, or I with him… and he most certainly can´t be ignorant!´

Finally allowing herself some air, Isobel was surprised to find Elsie watching her with, eyes filled with mirth and the corners of her mouth twitching.

´Too strenuous?´ she asked resigned.

´Perhaps a tad,´ Elsie answered, before bursting into laughter, quickly joined by Isobel.

´Well, really!´ the later exclaimed after some time, ´I dare say I have some valid points. Would you like to be courted by a man who drinks all the time?´

´Well, I don´t mind the occasional drink,´ Elsie replied shrugging slightly. ´Provided of course he´s not a total drunkard.´ Smirking a little, she added, ´and I have yet to meet the man who manages to drink me under the table.

Isobel snorted at that. ´So, what do you look for in a man?´

Elsie considered her response for a moment. ´I´m agree with you on the matter of height. I wouldn´t settle for a short man either. I like a sense of dignity in a man and obviously good manners. And…´ a small blush appeared on her face. ´I have a thing for voices.´

´Really?´ Isobel asked surprised. ´Goodness… I never considered voices. Although I admit, a pair of blue eyes probably has the same effect on me. Reginald had the most beautiful eyes, Matthew has them too…´

´Well, that´s certainly something to put in your ad,´ Elsie answered amused.

Glancing down at the advertisement column, Isobel groaned in frustration. ´It´s a complete nightmare. The ad has to consist of exactly twenty words… it´s undoable.´

´First we need a few words to describe your personality,´ Elsie, always the practical, suggested.

´Mad´ comes to mind,´ Isobel offered drily.

´Stubborn,´ Elsie answered grinning.

´I´ve been told I´m opinionated,´ Isobel said. ´I suppose there could be some truth in that.´

´So we have: ´mad, stubborn, opinionated female seeks companion,´ Elsie summarized.

Isobel snorted at that. ´I strive to attract said companion with the ad… perhaps we should sugar coat the awful truth a little.´

Writing down a few lines, she read out loud as she wrote: ´_Stubborn, opinionated female (47) seeks…_ what am I seeking exactly?´ she asked, looking imploringly at Elsie.

´A solid man with humour who can weather the madness.´ Elsie replied immediately, causing her friend to collapse in laughter and continue to scribble furiously.

`At least I don´t have to worry about some tedious cot responding,´ Isobel chuckled. ´Well, this is what I have so far: ´_Stubborn, opinionated female (47) seeks solid man with humour who can weather the madness. Never dull moment…´_ I still need three words.´

´How about ´_blue eyes preferred_?´ Elsie suggested mischievously, sending the both of them off into another fit of giggles.

´You´d be a fool not to marry the first man who replies and embodies all these qualities,´ Elsie finally managed between taking deep breaths.

Finally, after they had calmed down somewhat, Isobel looked down at her notepad. ´The question that remains is, what am I really going to put in the ad?´

´How would you like to be perceived?´ Elsie asked a bit more serious.

´I consider myself a person who likes to be around people,´ Isobel replied ´Hence why I am doing this,´ she added with a slight roll of her eyes.

´So that would be Gregarious female…´ Elsie suggested. Isobel nodded in agreement and started to write again. The next lines came surprisingly easy.

_Gregarious female (47) seeks correspondence with sensible, interesting man who enjoys science and medicines…_

`I still have a few words left,´ Isobel pointed out after a quick count. ´Perhaps it will be best to offer some honesty. How about I finish with: _and isn´t afraid of opinionated women?´_

´I think that will work nicely,´ Elsie agreed.

Satisfied Isobel folded the piece of paper an tucked into her writing case. ´I´m actually very curious to find out who´ll respond to the ad,´ she confided while refilling their teacups.

´So am I,´ Elsie replied, some of the worry she´d felt earlier still detectable in her voice. ´But how will you go on about it?´

´I´ve already resolved not to divulge anything personal until I´m certain about the other person,´ Isobel replied. ´Including names and locations.´

´That sounds like the sensible thing to do,´ Elsie answered relieved. ´Besides all that secrecy might give an extra thrill to the experience.´

Isobel laughed at that. ´I must say I find the experience thrilling enough as it is. And now that you mention secrecy, I won´t tell Matthew anything just yet. This might just be the thing that finally causes him to have me committed.´

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><p>Smiling to herself, Isobel sat down at her vanity in her dressing gown that evening. She never had desired the help of a Lady's maid. Brushing out her hair at the end of the day always had a sort of soothing effect on her. Contentedly she allowed parts of the evening´s conversation play through her mind, frowning a little as she remembered Elsie´s simple confession: <em>´Once upon a time a man was interested in me. He was a good man, but I wasn´t really interested in him. Then I met someone I was very interested in, but he didn´t look twice.´ <em>The words had been spoken with little emotion, as if she had been merely observing a plain fact. But by now Isobel knew her friend well enough to know that the word hid a great deal of sadness and she couldn´t help but feeling that the man who´d been ignorant to her partiality was a very great fool indeed. She wondered who he´d been.

Elsie´s description of a preferable suitor came to her mind: _´I agree with you on the matter of height. I wouldn´t settle for a short man either. I like a sense of dignity in a man and obviously good manners. And… I have a thing for voices.´_

And all of a sudden the penny dropped with a most decisive click and Isobel gasped before succumbing to laughter, having a rather good suspicion who the oblivious man had been.

After a soft knock the door of her bedroom opened to reveal Matthew standing on the threshold, his eyebrows raised. ´Are you alright?´ he asked

´I´m fine!´ Isobel answered cheerfully, though still not completely recovered. ´I´ve just made a bit of a discovery, that´s all.´

´Well, as long as it´s something nice,´ Matthew commented, amused and not overly worried, being rather used to sudden outbursts of mirth from his mother.

´Oh, I dare say it is,´ Isobel answered, waving her son off. After he had left she crawled under the crisp white linen sheets, still giggling.

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><p><strong>Reviews are cherished!<strong>


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I´m glad you all enjoy it. _

Chapter 2  
><strong>Mix-ups and memories<br>**_Still April 1913_

It did not happen often that Elsie Hughes had a reason to be frightened. In fact, the case was extremely rare. But there always were exceptions. And one of them was now staring her in the face. Backing away slowly in the small corridor towards her parlour, Elsie frantically tried to keep her wits together. It was a ridiculous reason really.

Only it was also drooling quite maliciously and baring its teeth to her. The hallway seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each passing second and when her back eventually bumped into the spare uniforms cabinet, sweat decidedly started to break out on her brow. In a desperate attempt she clutched her hand around the ring of keys, dangling from her skirts. If worst came to worst, she could always strike out with them, consequences be damned.

´Listen!´ she said as calmly and with as much authority as she could muster. ´I´m going to cut you a deal. You are going to turn around and walk away and let me into my parlour. This way nothing bad will happen to you…´ To her own aggravation, she heard her voice ending in a nervous, high-pitched tone. And of course all the reply she received was a low, grumbling growl and more drool.

She had never been one prone to swooning, but now she could see black spots dancing in front of her eyes. Then, to her immense relief she heard footsteps approaching from the servant´s hall. The heavy tread immediately revealing who it was.

´Mr Carson!´ she cried out tentatively. ´Could you give me a hand?´

She heard his voice before she saw him. ´Certainly, Mrs Hughes. What can I do to assist…´ he came round the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, a slightly amused expression appearing on his face.

´Oh Elsie… not again.´

´Just get him away from me,´ she whimpered, all pretence gone. Deciding to ignore the fact that he rolled his eyes a little, she watched him grab Pharaoh´s collar and drag him away. Naturally, the moment the butler appeared, the dog changed from a hell-guarding monster into a jovial pup, completing the transformation with a wag of his tail and enthusiastic panting – tongue sticking out.

A few moments later – she was still taking deep breaths, trying to regulate the frantic beating of her heart – he returned.

´Pharaoh is outside,´ he told her. ´You know, you really don´t have to be so afraid of him. He´s a good dog, he wouldn´t hurt a fly.´

´You don't say from where I was standing a few moments ago,´ she answered wryly. ´I really loath that animal.´

´He picks up on your fear,´ he explained. ´Sensing you are afraid of him, causes him to act dominant. He doesn´t behave like that to anyone else. Daisy even has him licking her face.´

´Daisy never had much sense to begin with,´ she replied tersely.

He noticed she was still clutching her keys tightly and he chuckled at the sight of it. ´Were you going to knock him out with your keys?´

´If it had come to it, I would have!´ she replied defiantly. Taking another deep breath she realised she had sufficiently calmed down again. 'He was curling his lip at me… I thought he was going to eat me alive.'

He had been a butler for so many years that he had mastered the art of keeping a completely blank face at all times. But she could read his face well, too well… and noticed the tiny muscle near the corner of his mouth quiver.

'You're laughing at me,' she stated, looking up at him.

His face remained perfectly emotionless. 'I wouldn't dare to,' he answered solemnly. But it were his eyes that betrayed him.

'You're very lucky you just saved my skin,' she muttered darkly, walking past him and opening the door of her parlour.

Knowing that her fear had been very real, he appraised her carefully, trying to assess if she was alright. But she seemed to be rallying again. She started walking towards her parlour and when she passed him, he placed his hand for a fleeting instant on her lower back. It was just a friendly gesture, he told himself. Just to steady her again.

He didn't touch her often. In fact, he almost never did. He'd never quite managed to repress his feelings for her to a point where he could just casually touch her without being affected by it. Her eyes were green with a hint of brown in them, he'd noticed it years ago. And now those eyes were looking at him, rather imploringly.

Regaining his posture he stood tall and straight again. After scraping his throat carefully he asked in what he hoped was a light voice: 'You really don't like dogs, do you?'

She let out a breath, which she must have been holding for quite some time, judging from the sound of it. But then her composure relaxed as she stepped into her parlour, returning to the level-headed, practical Elsie Hughes he knew so well.

'I never really have,' she answered. 'You see when I was a little girl, our neighbours – on the farm next to ours had the most gigantic dog you'd ever seen. Perhaps it was because I was just a wee girl, but honestly, to me that dog looked the size of a horse. And he was black with white fangs for teeth and this tremendous mouth. One day my father told me to bring some eggs to the farmer's wife. For some reason the dog wasn't tied down and when I walked onto the stockyard he came after me. I just dropped the eggs and took a run for it. I ran as fast as I could on my little legs… all the while screaming my head off. And all that time I could feel that monster breathing down in my neck, panting and wheezing. When I finally made it back to our farm my mother told me off for ruining a dozen of perfect eggs and for showing my bloomers.'

Upon seeing his raised eyebrows she explained: 'You see, I'd lifted my skirt to run even faster.'

This time he couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. 'You must have looked adorable.'

'Oh very,' she commented drily. 'My face was beet-red from all the screaming and crying, my shoes were covered in egg yellow and according to my father I'd come running so fast my braids were trailing behind me in two straight lines.'

With a heavy sigh she concluded: 'So no, I don't like dogs.'

Meeting his eyes she gave him a tiny smile. 'Thank you for rescuing me – again.'

'My pleasure,' he answered sincerely. 'And if you ever find yourself in need of a knight in shining armour again, don't hesitate to ask.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' she replied evenly, studiously avoiding to dwell on the implications of his words. 'I certainly will.'

* * *

><p>Half past four, right after the servants had had their tea always provided Elsie with a bit of lull in the afternoon. Usually she retreated to her parlour for half an hour or so to finish up some paperwork, or to go over the accounts. This afternoon however she was interrupted by a swift knock on the door.<p>

Calling out for admittance she was pleasantly surprised to find Isobel Crawley standing there, holding a copy of '_The Woman's Magazine'_ in her hand.

'It has just come in,' Isobel told her excitedly. 'If everything went as planned, the ad is in!'

'What do you mean?' Elsie asked surprised, beckoning for her to come in. 'You haven't looked yet?'

Isobel shook her head. 'Not yet, I wanted to share this momentous moment with someone,' she replied grinning.

Elsie wondered at her capacity to just make a big joke out of it all. But feeling very curious and somewhat giddy herself now, she watched as Isobel leafed through the magazine, looking for the right page. 'Here we are… wait a minute, yes! This must be it.'

Suddenly Isobel's face paled and filled with horror. 'Oh no…' she stammered, panic rising in her voice. 'No, no, no… this can't have happened.'

'What?' Elsie asked bewildered. Filled with worry she moved to stand next to Isobel and peered over her shoulder on the page. There, in the midst of other ads, instead of the sensible, carefully worded advertisement she and Isobel had drawn up a few weeks ago, she read the words of the flippant, one could say downright ludicrous ad they had cooked up first:

_Headstrong, independent female ( 47) seeks solid man with humour who can weather the madness.  
>Never dull moment. Blue eyes preferred.<em>

Clasping her hand over her mouth in shock, Elsie watched as Isobel turned from pale to bright pink. 'This cannot have happened,' she repeated mortified.

'Well, apparently it very much has happened,' Elsie shot back, her eyes wide with shock. 'But how did it happen?'

'I must have send in the wrong ad!' Isobel replied in a frantic whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it even more horrendous.

'Oh my goodness…' she ran a hand through her neatly pinned up hair, effectively ruining her bun in the process. 'I'm going to get an endless stream of letters from mad cots and lunatics… if I get any letters at all! Which man in his right mind is going to reply to such an ad?'

Elsie closed her eyes tightly, trying to fight down the giggle that she felt bubbling up irresistibly. Opening her eyes she dared to take one look at Isobel and saw that her lips were quivering as well. That proved to be both their undoing. Unable to contain themselves any longer they both dissolved in laughter.

Elsie couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard. She laughed until she had tears streaming down her face and her sides hurt. Just a glance at her friend set her off again and it took a good ten minutes before both of them had somewhat regained their composure again.

That was until she rather breathlessly uttered: 'Never a dull moment…' And then almost doubled up again.

Eventually though they managed to exert themselves enough to be able to speak again. 'How long before you can expect a reply?' Elsie asked.

'No earlier than a week, I should guess,' Isobel replied, placing the magazine next to her on the settee and wiping the tears from her eyes. 'Although at this point I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it or dreading it.' Glancing around for a clock she then asked. 'What time is it?'

Elsie checked the small chain watch that was attached to her ring of keys. 'It's a quarter past five,' she answered.

'Good heavens!' Isobel explained, jumping to her feet. 'I was supposed to be at the hospital fifteen minutes ago. I have an appointment with doctor Clarkson and the new doctor.'

'There's a new doctor?' Elsie asked surprised, getting to her feet as well.

'Yes,' Isobel explained hurriedly. 'He came last week, we're a bit short on staff at the moment… it's a long story.'

'I haven't heard anything about it,' Elsie commented in wonder. Usually news like this travelled around Downton with the speed of lighting.

'Well,' Isobel replied, frowning a little bit. 'I haven't said much about it because I'm not yet certain if his arrival is that much of an improvement.'

'Really?' Elsie asked, raising her eyebrows. It was very unlike Isobel to be so guarded about meeting a new acquaintance.

'Why don't you come over for tea later this week?' Isobel suggested. 'Then I can tell you all about it. But now I really must dash!'

Walking Isobel to the front door it wasn't until Elsie returned in her parlour that she noticed the magazine still lying on the settee. Picking it up she shook her head slightly as she re-read the crazy ad. Then her eyes fell on the final ad at the bottom of the page. She read the words thoughtlessly at first:

_Respectable man (58) in honourable position seeks female correspondent to exchange views and thoughts.  
><em>_Preferably woman who knows her mind. _

She read the lines again and something in the sober, simple words touched her. She tried to imagine the sort of man that would write this ad. He would be sensible surely. And he definitely had thought about the sort of woman he would wish to respond.

Suddenly the most outrages thought came to her mind. _'Why don't you write to him?_' Blinking as if someone had spoken the words to her out loud, she dropped the magazine back on the settee.

'This is just the first sign of madness, Elsie Hughes,' she told herself sternly. 'Responding to an ad, corresponding with a complete stranger. Have you completely lost your head this time?' Briskly she returned to her desk and tried to finish balancing the accounts. Twenty minutes and three large ink blots later she gave up. Returning to the settee she took up the magazine again and re-read the ad.

This might not be about romance, she reasoned. This person might merely seek a correspondent, someone to talk to, so to speak. There could be no harm in that.

What did she really have to lose? If she would write to him, without telling who she was or where she lived, there could be no serious consequences, could there? Just an exchange of thoughts and views with a sensible, honourable man, there hardly could be anything wrong in that.

She could write just once, just to see if he would respond. No-one needed to know about it.

There could absolutely be no harm in it.

* * *

><p><strong>Support the <em>Keep Carson At Downton Foundation<em> and leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: I´m really happy about the many reviews and alerts I´ve received so far. Thank you all so much! _

**Chapter 3  
><strong>_Half way through April - 1913_

Upon their first meeting Isobel had liked Dr Timothy Wellington. They had literally bumped into each other in the hallway of Downton hospital when she had come from one of the wards, carrying a tray with instruments, and he had come around the corner at the same time. They had collided with some force, but his hands had immediately came up to steady her at her elbows. Looking up she had been pleasantly surprised to find a pair of steel blue eyes looking down at her, taking her in.

´I´m very sorry,´ he offered with an easy smile. ´I should have watched where I was going.´

´It´s nothing,´ she had reassured him, realizing that he required quite some looking up to. Handing over her tray to one of the passing nurses, she returned her attention to him. He didn´t look like he was in need of any medical attention, but of course one could never tell from outside appearance.

´Have you come to visit someone or are you here to see Dr Clarkson?´ she inquired.

´The latter,´ he replied, ´although I don´t need any medical attention myself. I´m from London Hospital. Dr Clarkson wrote me to ask if I´d be interested in working here and I´ve agreed to meet him this afternoon.´

He held out his hand to her, which she took instantly. He had nice hands, she noticed. Long, lean fingers and a strong grip.

´Dr Timothy Wellington,´ he introduced himself, the smile never having left his face.

´Isobel C…´ she started to reply, but she never got to finish as a cry coming from the ward distracted her.

´Nurse!´ A frantic woman appeared on the threshold, who Isobel recognized as Mrs Austin, wife to one of the farmhands that had been admitted a few days ago.

´It´s Davy, nurse!´ the woman cried, looking panic-stricken. ´He´s coughing up blood, I think he´s going to choke!´

´I´m coming!´ Isobel replied instantly, turning around and running into the ward, Dr Wellington close on her heels. Mr Austin´s head was lolled dangerously to the side, his coughs coming in gasping, difficult pants, blood coming from the corners of his mouth and trickling down his chin. He was clutching his chest, panic evident in his eyes. Without a second thought, Isobel sat down on the bed next to him and gently coaxed him into a sitting position. Bending his head down, she took a bowl from the nightstand to catch the blood.

´Easy Mr Austin,´ she told him. ´Try and breath as evenly as you can. Concentrate on that. The blood will come out of its own accord and by the looks of it, it isn´t too bad.´ Her soothing words had the desired effect, the poor man calmed down somewhat and the coughing fit lessened.

Meanwhile, Wellington had grabbed the nearest stethoscope and listened intently to the man´s back. ´There´s some fluid behind your lungs,´ he said eventually. ´But that doesn´t account for the fact you´re coughing up blood.´

´It started all of sudden,´ Mr Austin spoke with some difficulty. To Isobel his speech sounded a little slurred and she noticed he hadn´t lost that much of blood. All of a sudden she had a hunch.

´Could you open your mouth for me and stick your tongue out, Mr Austin?´ she asked calmly. If either of the two men were surprised by her request they didn´t show it and obediently the patient did as he was asked. As she had expected, Isobel found his tongue slightly swollen and with a nasty mark. ´Is it possible you´ve bit your tongue?´ she asked.

Comprehension dawned in the farmhand´s eyes. ´I got this choking feeling here!´ he explained, indicating his chest. ´I thought I was having a heart-attack and panicked. Must have bitten my tongue then.´

´The fluid behind your lungs is causing you to feel constricted.´ Wellington explained to him. ´But at the moment your heart isn´t affected, so you needn´t worry about that.´

´Just stay calm and I´ll ask one of the nurses to clean your bedclothes,´ Isobel told him smiling, noticing the bloodstains on his pillow.

Together with Wellington she made her way out of the ward again.  
>´You caught up on the cause for his bleeding rather quickly,´ he commented, a note of admiration in his voice. ´How long have you worked here?´<p>

´Six months,´ she replied, grinning when she caught the surprised look on his face.

´But surely you have been a nurse for much longer than that?´ he asked.

´My late husband was a doctor and we were stationed in South Africa for quite some time,´ she told him.

Just then Dr Clarkson approached him, grinning broadly. ´Timothy, good to see you old fellow!´

´Richard! Good to see you as well.´

There was good deal of handshaking and shoulder patting, and Isobel smiled inwardly at this display of manly affection. Downton Hospital had recently been extended with two wards and was now the primary medical facility for the region. It had become too much for Richard Clarkson alone to handle and on the latest board meeting he had suggested to appoint a second physician. Both herself and Dowager Countess had agreed with him, but Isobel was amused to discover how quickly he had arranged a suitable candidate himself, as opposed to waiting for Violet Crawley to push some nephew´s by marriage second son forward.

´I see you have already met our chairman,´ Richard said pleasantly.

´Chairman?´ If before Timothy Wellington had looked surprised, he now looked positively incredulous.

´I am first and foremost a nurse,´ Isobel explained hastily. A little carefully she added: ´But it was felt that I needed more of a purpose in life and so I became Chairman of the Board.´

He snorted heartily at that and the mischievous twinkle she saw when she caught his eyes caused her heart to skip a beat. This may just be the sort of man that shared her sense of humour and way of looking at life.

´You´ll find Mrs Crawley to be a very dedicated nurse,´ Richard said, his tone light. Drily he added: ´although I advise you to remain on her good side. I´m still reeling from the last clash of wills we had.´

The last part of his sentence seemed to have gone lost on Wellington as his face underwent the most miraculous change. The twinkle left his eyes and his mouth became hard line.

´Mrs Isobel Crawley?´ he repeated, the tone of his voice undeniable colder.

She hadn´t heard it at the time, or hadn´t want to hear it. Instead she had continued to smile at him as she made her reply. ´Isobel Crawley, yes. I didn´t get the chance to introduce myself properly just then.´

´You said you´ve worked here for only six months,´ Wellington asked, his tone curt and to the point. ´Where did you live before?´

´I´m from Manchester originally,´ she answered. ´I was born and bred there. We – my son and myself – moved to Downton six months ago.´

His jaw seemed to become rigid after her reply and his composure stiffened. ´I see,´ were the only words he uttered to her after that.

* * *

><p>From there on it only got much worse. Wellington was offered the position of physician at Downton hospital instantly. Richard was already in favour, and Violet Crawley very much in favour the moment she discovered how opposed Isobel was to the notion of hiring Dr Wellington. In retrospect, she really should have hidden her feelings better. Their working relationship was strained and uncomfortable, and she strived to be out of his way as much as possible. For his behaviour towards her had become downright frosty. He barely acknowledged her presence when she was there and whenever he had no choice but to address her, his tone was short and biting.<p>

She wondered about his change in behaviour towards her, tracing its origin back to the moment he´d found out what her full name was. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she knew him from Manchester, or if she ever heard Reginald mention him. She even went as far as to write to her friends and acquaintances in Manchester to ask if the name Timothy Wellington rang any bells with them. But her inquires let to nothing and she was left to wonder.

Being on her guard and walking on eggshells around him drained much of the enjoyment she had previously felt at working at Downton hospital and she couldn´t help but resent Wellington somewhat for it. It was, after all, most unfair. Downton hospital had been her safe haven, her reason for feeling somewhat valued in the community. His arrival had robbed her of the ease and joy she had previously experienced within its walls. After a rather rocky start a professional friendship had formed between herself and Dr Clarkson. She knew he respected her abilities as a nurse and over the months she had come to respect him likewise. Not only for his medical abilities, but also for the way he managed to manoeuvre through the village, keeping a friendly relationship practically every inhabitant.

She had wondered briefly about taking her troubles with Dr Wellington to Dr Clarkson, but had then decided against it. The mere idea that she needed to run to one doctor and ask him to tell another doctor off for not being nice towards her irritated her to no end and was, to put it bluntly, more than her sense of pride could endure. She resolved to handle whatever problem Wellington seemed to have with her herself.

* * *

><p>She had just finished filling out one of the ward´s when Richard Clarkson walked in with the usual bounce in his step.<p>

´Mrs Crawley, looking lovely as ever!´ he said jovially.

Isobel barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the comment. It hadn´t taken her long to discover that Dr Clarkson was about the biggest flirt that walked around. There was something of an easy charm about him that was rather disarming. It was one of the reasons he was excessively popular in the village.

`Is Dr Wellington in?´ she asked cautiously.

´No, he´s out for the morning, doing the rounds,´ Clarkson replied, ´you´ll have to content yourself with me.´

Ignoring his comment – as she often did when he was in one of his moods she tried to maintain a composed expression. But some of her relief must have shimmered through, for Clarkson remarked: ´The two of you haven´t particularly warmed up towards each other, have you?´

´Not really,´ Isobel replied honestly.

´Look, I know he´s been behaving rather… distant.´ Clarkson said with a frown. ´I´ve noticed it too… He´s had a rough time at London Hospital, which is also the reason he agreed to come here. I´m not at liberty to tell more, but…´ he shrugged a little helplessly. For all his charm and ease, Clarkson really loathed dealing with staff dynamics. ´I wouldn´t take it too personally if I were you.´

´You can be assured I´ll deal with him in a professional manner,´ Isobel told him calmly. A lot calmer then she felt in fact.

After he had left she continued to ponder on the situation. ´_Don´t take it personally…´_ Clarkson had told her. But the thing was, she suspected that Wellington´s aversion towards her was very personally. He had been perfectly friendly – charming even when he´d been ignorant of who she was. The relief she had felt upon hearing that he was out for the morning startled her and she realised his behaviour was affecting her far worse than she had previously thought. Shaking her head she firmly resolved that this wouldn´t do. She had to confront Wellington.

* * *

><p>Leaving the door of her parlour open Elsie listened to the sounds coming from the servant´s hall. They were having their noon tea and with the family gone she indulged them in taking a little more time for their breaks than usual. She smiled when she heard Gwen ask: ´How are you liking it here, Rose?´<p>

´Alright, I guess.´ Elsie had to strain her ears to hear the reply. Rose Miller was the latest addition to the household staff. Elsie preferred to train very young maids during the period the family was in London, so that they had a little more time to settle in. Rose Miller was only fifteen years old. She was a hard worker, but also a little shy and timid and sometimes Elsie wondered if she would be able to hold her ground against the more… vicious members of the staff. But to her relief most of the staff apparently had taken a liking to the girl.

´Now that you´re properly settled, how about we tell you how it works around here?´ That was Tom Branson, joining in on the conversation. ´What have you learned so far?´

´Not to get on the bad side of Miss O´Brien,´ Rose piped up immediately, causing a roar of laughter.

´Clever girl,´ Gwen chuckled. ´She might just be the most fearsome person here.´

´Her and Mr Carson,´ Rose replied, some dread apparent in her voice.

Elsie frowned on Charles´ behalf and wondered whether or not she should interfere. She remained sitting however when she heard Daisy´s voice.

´Mr Carson isn´t bad. He´s strict and all… but I don´t find him half where near as frightening as O´Brien.´

´Well, it´s just… he looks so strict and he always talks about the honour of Downton… it makes me afraid to make mistakes,´ Rose explained.

Elsie relented somewhat. Perhaps from the perspective of a nervous, eager to please fifteen year old, Charles could look rather intimidating.

´You don´t have to be afraid of Mr Carson,´ Gwen told the younger maid gently. ´As a rule he´s easier on the maids then on the footmen. He might grumble a lot, but there are actually but a few things that make him really mad.´

This earned a snort from Lily, one of the elder maids. ´To be fair, I only once saw him really, really angry. Which was very frightening, I grant you that. But as long as you don´t insult Mrs Hughes in his face, you´ve got nothing to worry about.´

Mrs Patmore loud laugh filled the kitchen. ´Goodness… I remember now! Poor Mabel!´

´Who was Mabel and what did she do?´ Gwen asked eagerly, sensing there was a story behind the remark.

_Mabel…_ Elsie barely refrained from groaning out loud. That girl had been one nasty piece of work.

Apparently Lily agreed. ´Mabel worked here ten years ago,´ she began. ´Gwen, I think she was gone just before you and Anna started here. Mabel had gone into service with one goal and one goal only: to find herself a husband.´

Mrs Patmore huffed indignantly. ´No man was safe from here antics and Mrs Hughes quite had her hands full, trying to control her.´

´One evening Mr Carson caught her in the scullery, just as she was blatantly flirting with one of the stable boys,´ Lily continued.

Elsie found herself listening intently. This was something she´d never heard before.

´I´d just come in to drop off some linen and they never saw me. And well… I wanted to see what happened, so I just kept very quiet and stayed.´ Lily curiosity was well known in the household. ´So Mr Carson starts telling her off and at one point mentions to Mabel that Mrs Hughes has given her a fair share of warnings already. And that silly cow Mabel just says the first thing that comes to her mind…´ For dramatic purposes Lily let her pause stretch on.

´Well? What did she say?´ Gwen asked anxiously.

´I can´t repeat it,´ Lily said eventually, earning a lot of groans from her colleagues. ´No really,´ she insisted. ´It was too nasty… Let me just say she managed to question Mrs Hughes´ honour and Mr Carson´s morals in one sentence.´

Elsie gasped along with the rest of the staff. She had definitely never heard this story before.

´Mr Carson turned absolutely livid,´ Lily told them. ´I´ve never seen him like that. It was terrifying really… He turned scarlet red and there was this big vein popping in his neck. At one point I thought he was either going to skin Mabel alive or have a heart-attack from sheer fury. Eventually he just sacked her on the spot. She was gone within an hour.´

´It´s actually rather nice that he defended Mrs Hughes so,´ Daisy said dreamily.

´But wait a second…´ Gwen asked confused. ´Mabel was under Mrs Hughes´ jurisdiction. How could Mr Carson dismiss her?´

And Elsie remembered the incident fully now. She had been furious with Charles when she´d found out that he had dismissed one of her girls without even consulting her. It had led to one of the most severe disagreements they´d ever had. She literally hadn´t spoken to him for two weeks.

´And that´s where Mr Carson comes off even nicer,´ Lily replied chuckling. ´Mrs Hughes was rather upset when she found out he went behind her back. But he never told her why he´d sacked Mabel. I think he wanted to spare her feelings, so he kept what she´d said to himself, even if it meant he had to bear her anger instead. And angry she was… I think she gave him the cold shoulder for weeks. Eventually they made up though.´

The easy chatter went on after that, but Elsie wasn´t paying attention anymore, her mind still reeling with what she had just overheard. Eventually she was roused by the sound of a chair scraping.

´Well, it´s been nice reminiscing with you all,´ Mrs Patmore said briskly. ´But that stew isn´t going to cook itself. Come on, Daisy.´ A lot of scraping from chairs was heard as the rest of the staff all went back to their duties.

Elsie remained motionless sitting at the desk in her parlour, her chin resting in her hand. Dear, sweet man. So that had been the reason. She´d always wondered about it. She´d been so angry with him at the time. Mostly because she had felt that him overruling her meant he didn´t trust her abilities to run her staff, that he didn´t really respect her. Finding out now how he´d gone out of his way to make sure her reputation remained intact and how he´d shielded her from the vicious remarks of an angry housemaid made her feel heartily sorry for the way she had treated him at the time.

Still deep in thought she made her way to the now deserted servant´s hall. Just as she entered it he came from the wine-cellar where he´d been locked up all morning, unloading the crates.

´All done?´ she asked in a much softer voice then she would normally address him in, noticing his weary expression.

He nodded gruffly. ´At least this will do for a few months,´ he answered, rolling his shoulders.

All of a sudden Elsie felt a rush of affection for the man standing in front of her wash over her. ´Charles…´ she began carefully. She usually never risked using his name in such a public area as the servant´s hall. He looked up in surprise and she bit her lip, trying to form the words without giving too much away.

´I don´t nearly say it enough I suppose, but… you do know how much I value you… your support over the years, don´t you?´  
>Her heart softened even more when she saw his ears turn red. He blinked at her, unsure what to do with her unexpected praise.<p>

´I do know, Elsie,´ he spoke in that gentle voice he only used when something genuinely touched him. The voice he used when he spoke of Lady Mary, or of his mother for whom he had cared deeply. And sometimes when he talked to her. He looked at her imploringly, as if trying to read her face. ´What has brought this on?´

´Nothing in particular…´ she answered rather breathlessly. Shaking herself inwardly she briskly attempted to get herself together. It wouldn´t do to get mushy at one o´clock in the afternoon. In a more steadfast tone she added: ´Since when do I need a reason to show my appreciation of you?´

She was relieved to hear that her voice had returned almost back to normal and that the corners of his mouth twisted upward at her words. ´I suppose not,´ he agreed. Still, the look of wonder hadn´t completely left his face. Deciding that it would probably be better if she returned to the solitude and sanity of her parlour she brushed passed him to the door. Just before she reached it he called her name.

´Elsie…´ She looked back and found him looking at her with soft look she sometimes caught him with late at night. She´d always chalked it up to him being very tired and tried not to think about it any further. His eyes were warm, but there was that hint of sadness in them that made her heart ache and made her want to wrap her arms around him.

´Thank you.´ She could hear the emotion vibrating in his deep voice. At loss for anything to say she just smiled at him and held his gaze until she felt sure that if she looked for one moment longer she would melt right there on the threshold of the servant´s hall. Heart hammering, she finally made it to her parlour.

* * *

><p><em>Dr Timothy Wellington is a character I created for my other fic ´Honour bound´. For the purpose of this story I´ve altered some things about his past history with Isobel so that there could be a new twist to their dynamic. And I can already promise that I won´t leave Richard Clarkson out in a lurch… or pair him off with O´Brien! <em>

**As always, I´d like to hear what you think!**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
><strong>Discussion at Grantham Arms<br>**_End of April 1913_

Over the years it had become a monthly occurrence, one Charles had come to enjoy immensely. When neither of them were too busy they picked a quiet evening for a drink at Grantham´s Arms. This particular evening Richard had invited Timothy Wellington along and so the three men found themselves sitting in a booth in a more or less quiet corner of the pub. Saturday evenings usually were a rather crowded affair and Charles felt lucky they at least had managed to secure a place to sit where they could hear each other talk.

´How do you like Downton so far?´ he asked Timothy.

´Reasonably well,´ Timothy replied carefully. ´The hospital certainly is rather impressive. I did not expect a village would hoist such an advanced medical facility. I understand Lord Grantham is personally involved in the support of it?´

´He does take a keen interest in it,´ Charles answered. ´But it was, his father, the former Lord Grantham who set up and financed the hospital. His mother, the Dowager Countess, is currently one of the board of directors.´

´Yes, I`ve met her,´ Timothy nodded.

´And of course when Mrs Crawley came to Downton she became rather involved with the hospital as well,´ Charles added.

A flicker of anger passed over Timothy´s face, but it was gone just as quickly. ´How is Mrs Crawley perceived in the neighbourhood?´ he asked then.

Charles blinked for a second. ´It depends on who you ask, I suppose. She´s well-liked by the staff of both the Abbey and Crawley House. The Dowager Countess, on the other hand, is rather more antagonistic.´

´Why is that?´ Timothy asked immediately.

´Because the Dowager Countess isn´t used to someone challenging her authority openly and Mrs Crawley has done plenty of that,´ Richard replied instead. ´I´m sorry, Charles,´ he added, ´I know where your loyalties lie. But you have got to admit old Lady Grantham is rather a lot to handle at times.´

´I think you´ll find Mrs Crawley is generally perceived as a very valuable addition to our community,´ Charles diplomatically offered.

´Especially if you like opinionated women who are not inclined to back down,´ Richard piped up again. ´But why so interested, Timothy? Have you taken a shine to her?´ The tone was light-hearted and teasing, but the apprehension on Timothy´s face spoke volumes.

´Not in the least!´ he barked adamantly.

Any other reply Timothy was about to make was cut short when the waitress appeared with their drinks. After Richard had duly flattered the girl, the men turned to their drinks until Richard broke the silence by introducing a new topic, his voice cheerful and rather eager.

´I´ve been thinking…´

´No good has ever came from it,´ Charles interrupted darkly, recognizing the signs.

´Or rather, I´ve been reading,´ Richard continued undeterred as if the interruption had not taken place, ´and look at what I found.´ He placed a copy of ´_The Woman´s Magazine_´ on the table.

Recognizing the issue instantly, Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ´Where did you get that?´

´I confiscated it from one of the nurses,´ Richard replied, flipping quickly through the pages. ´Ah yes, here it is… take a look!´

To his dismay Charles found himself looking at the personal ad´s column and, more precisely, to his very own ad, printed at the bottom of the page. He felt the cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Richard had somehow found out! This had been a very, very stupid idea. Stupid, foolish, ridiculous really… how was he going to explain this? How was he ever going to walk away with even a shred of his dignity intact?

´Listen to this,´ Richard announced, before he started to read: ´_Stubborn, opinionated female (47) seeks solid man with humour who can weather the madness. Never dull moment. Blue eyes preferred.´ _

While Charles was busy breathing a sigh of relief, Timothy was torn between amusement and incredulity. ´Which woman in her right mind would write an ad like that?´

´I resolve to find out just that!´ Richard replied, taking a gulp from his beer.

Timothy eyed his colleague with a look of utter astonishment. ´You intent to write to… that? Why would you ever?´

´Because he´s approached virtually every woman in the village and now he tries to broaden his circle,´ Charles dryly interjected.

´Well, I must confess I wouldn´t mind meeting a new face,´ Richard admitted unashamed. ´I know practically everyone in the village and there are some women even I consider to be off-limit.´ While speaking these last words he looked rather pointedly at Charles.

´Really?´ Timothy asked, his eyebrows raised. ´Do I dare ask who?´

Richard grin was rather shrewd when he replied: ´Well, I wouldn´t dream of making a pass at Elsie Hughes for instance.´

Charles merely rolled his eyes at the comment. It always came down to this. Richard had been pestering him about Elsie for as long as he could remember. As far as he knew he had never let anything slip about his preference to her, but somehow Richard seemed highly entertained by the idea that something must be going on on that score.

´Who´s Elsie Hughes?´ Timothy asked, curious.

´Ask Charles,´ Richard grinned. ´He´ll be able to answer that question so much more eloquently than I will ever manage.´

Ignoring his remark, Charles answered Timothy instead. ´Elsie Hughes is the housekeeper at Downton and one of my dearest friends. And Richard does well not to trifle with her affections, for he knows he´s in for it if he does.´

Feeling rather proud of his collected answer, Charles tended to his drink, never noticing the amused look that passed between his companions.

´At any rate,´ Timothy asked Richard, ´are you still determined to continue this foolish idea of responding to a dubious personal ad from a unknown woman who is most likely to be a complete and utter lunatic?

´Good grief!´ Richard chuckled, ´don´t you get articulate when you disagree. But yes, I do intent to write. For all we know she could be a delightful creature.´

Timothy´s decisive snort made his doubt very clear. ´I don´t think you could find anyone who´d agree with you on this.´

Richard sat straight up in the booth all of a sudden, his eyes gleaming quite deviously. ´You think I can´t find anyone who´ll agree with me this is a good idea?´ he challenged.

Charles fought the grin that threatened to spill. Years of friendship had taught him that Richard Clarkson never, ever backed down from a challenge. Apparently Timothy Wellington did not know this, for he declared flatly: ´You won´t, it´s impossible.´

Richard leaned back against backrest of the booth, oozing confidence. ´Very well then, let´s make this interesting. If I don´t manage to find a person tonight who agrees with me this is in fact a highly clever idea, drinks are on me tonight…´

´Hear, hear,´ Timothy agreed immediately, grinning as well now.

´Not so fast,´ Richard interjected, lifting his hand. ´If I do however manage to find someone who agrees with me, you´ll reply to the woman who wrote the ad.´

Interested, Charles awaited Timothy´s response. After a slight pause the tall man nodded. ´You´ve got yourself a deal. Good luck finding someone.´

´Oh, that shouldn´t be too hard,´ Richard replied carelessly. He took his time looking around the crowded pub and all of a sudden his face brightened considerably.  
>´Moleseley!´ he bellowed through the room, straining his voice to make himself heard. ´Could you come over here for a second?´<p>

Smiling somewhat awkwardly to this sudden request, Alfred Moleseley made his way over to the booth. Timothy, who had been sitting across from Richard and Charles scooted somewhat to make room for the valet.

´We´d like to hear you opinion about something,´ Richard started.

´Of course… of course…´ Moleseley obliged immediately. ´How can I be of service to you gentlemen?´

´Well, look here,´ Richard replied amiably. He laid out the magazine across the table and pointed at the ad´s. ´What do you think of those?´

As he read on ´ Moleseley ´s face started to bear more and more resemblance to that of a young boy on Christmas morning. ´Are all these women genuinely seeking companionship?´ he asked eagerly, once he had plotted through the page. Charles was hard pressed to laugh out loud, but managed to contain himself. Timothy was eyeing the scene in front of him with open mouth.

´It appears so,´ Richard answered, rubbing his moustache to hide his grin. ´Would you consider it very foolish to respond to one?´

´No! No, not at all!´ Moleseley cried enthusiastically. ´How could it be? When all these lovely, respectable women are looking for a way to end their current state of loneliness?´

Timothy, who had just taken a sip of his drink dissolved in a violent coughing fit. And while Charles was being torn between mortal amusement and mortal embarrassment, Moleseley continued to stare at the ads with shining eyes. ´Does these ads occur often?´ he asked excitedly.

´Every issue or so it appears,´ Richard managed calmly.

´Marvellous!´ Moseley whispered in awe. Almost reverently he closed the magazine and scanned the title. ´_The Woman´s Magazine_!´ he cried happily. ´Mrs Bird reads that, what a happy coincidence!´

´Very fortunate indeed,´ Richard agreed, enjoying himself immensely. ´I must say Mr Moleseley, I am impressed with your open-minded attitude regarding women who seek the initiative.´

Moleseley blinked, unsure of what to reply. ´Well… thank you kindly, Dr Clarkson,´ he stammered eventually. After a slight pause the valet rose to his feet. ´If you would excuse me gentlemen, there´s a pressing matter I need to look into.´

´Of course,´ Richard waved easily. ´Thank you so much for your assistance Mr Moleseley. It is very much appreciated, I can assure you.´

The step with which Moleseley left the pub could definitely be described as bouncing and the three men at the booth stared studiously down at the table.

´Wait until he´s gone,´ Charles muttered quietly. ´We can´t laugh at him, it wouldn´t be proper.´

But once they were certain Moleseley had truly left they broke down in laughter.

Finally Timothy held up his hands. ´Alright Richard, I´ll admit defeat. Just give me the address and I´ll write to this apparently insane woman.´

Richard pulled his fountain pen from his breast pocket and proceeded to scribble down the address of the magazine on a carton coaster. Charles was pleasantly surprised by the fact that after all his disapproval, Timothy turned out to be a good sport about losing the bet.

´Perhaps it won´t be so bad after all,´ he tried to console. ´Maybe you´ll find her more sane and interesting than she appears from the ad.´

`I very much doubt that,´ Timothy responded warily, ´but I´ll try and take my cue from Mr Moleseley and go into this experience with an open mind.´

´What would she have to be like for you to be genuinely interested?´ Richard asked, while still writing on the coaster.

´She´d have to be caring and dedicated,´ Timothy answered immediately, as if he had decided on those qualities a long time ago. ´I can´t stand a woman who is flimsy or self-centred.´

´In that case, you might want to reconsider your dislike of Isobel Crawley,´ Richard shot back.

For a moment all ease and humour disappeared from Timothy´s face. ´I must certainly will not,´ he stated flatly.

Relaxing somewhat he added: ´Don´t push me, Richard. You´ve asked me to behave more cordial towards her and I will oblige you on that account, but in return give me leave to think of her as I choose.´

After this short interlude the conversation returned to its former ease. Charles found that he enjoyed the company of Timothy Wellington a great deal as the man had many interesting stories to tell from the time he worked at London hospital, although he remained vague about his reasons for leaving the place.

The rest of the evening progressed in a pleasant manner, but one thing continued to nag on Charles´ mind. Why was Timothy so insistent in his dislike of Isobel Crawley? To him it appeared to be something far more substantial than an instant disliked based on mismatched personalities. In fact, if personalities and preference were anything to go by, Richard was absolutely right, Timothy Wellington and Isobel Crawley would be highly compatible. He had noticed the warm friendship that had formed over the last few months between Elsie and Isobel and as such he was inevitably partial towards Isobel. What could have caused the violent dislike of the man sitting across from him? It was something Charles wondered about very much.


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: the letters are upon us... The ´Charles and Elsie´ unknowingly exchange letters plot-bunny have been hopping around in my mind for a long time. Originally I planned it as their story-line for ´Honour bound´ but I decided against it, because the plot has one big flaw which makes it impossible: after working together for so many years they would immediately recognize each other´s hand-writting...  
>I tried to work around it, but it just wasn´t possible, so by declaring this story to be a crack!fic I hope I can get away with it.<br>Cookie-moi has written a lovely one-shot about Timothy´s feelings upon meeting Isobel, but she does follow a different plot-line...  
>Confused yet?<br>As always, thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<br>**The spinster, the battle axe and the jellyfish  
><strong>_April 1913_

Making his way to Downton´s postal office, Charles was torn between curiosity and once again, embarrassment. It had been two weeks now since his ad had been featured in ´_The Woman´s Magazine_´ and he could reasonably expect some replies by now. That was of course if any women had bothered to reply. He very much tried not to get his hopes up too much. In the past fortnight he had often cursed his folly, especially last Saturday night when Richard had pulled out a copy of that blasted magazine. The whole episode had been an exercise in mortification. He still felt a hint of guilt at laughing at Mr Moleseley ´s eagerness when he had gone much further on that score. Still, he could find humour in the fact that Timothy was now obliged to reply to the ´mad ad´ as the peculiar advertisement had been dubbed by the three of them.

Arriving at the postal office he took a deep breath to steady himself before entering. He just hoped that for goodness´ sake they had been discreet about mailing the letters. Announced by the sound of a bell he was greeted by the sight of the postal mistress, standing behind the counter.

´Good afternoon Miss Thornton,´ he greeted, fully entering the small space.

´Ah Mr Carson!´ Maureen Thornton responded to his greeting with a warm smile of her own. ´You are here to pick up the mail for the Crawley family, I presume?´

´I am,´ he nodded in reply. ´And I would also like to enquire if there has arrived something for me personally.´

´Well, as a matter of fact…´ Maureen Thornton ran her finger across a cabinet-like construction on the wall behind her where all the incoming mail was sorted. ´… yes here we are. My, Mr Carson, you have certainly become popular!´ She pulled out four identical brown envelopes, all addressed to him.

His eyes widening in surprise, Charles took the letters from her.

´Have you placed a personal ad, Mr Carson?´ her tone was perfectly light and teasing, but Charles could feel his face turning bright red and his heart starting to hammer. ´No… no…, of course not!´ he exclaimed, his voice gruff with embarrassment.

In turn, Maureen Thornton flushed scarlet as well. ´I´m just joking Mr Carson,´ she replied gently. ´I´m terribly sorry, I didn´t mean to embarrass you. Of course you haven´t advertised… it was just a daft assumption on my part. Again I´m terribly sorry…´

The more she tried to apologize, the more she began to ramble. For as long as he could remember, Charles had known Maureen Thornton to be a very sweet-tempered, even somewhat shy woman, who would never on purpose affront anyone. So now he found himself trying to overcome his own feeling of near-mortal mortification and at the same time trying to reassure the flustered woman in front of him that he really, _really_ didn´t take offence at her jest.

At long last and to his everlasting relief he was able to leave the postal office, his four letters safely secured in the inside pocket of his coat, the sounds of the postal mistress apologies still ringing in his ears.

Never again! He vowed himself grimly on his walk back to the Abbey. Never again would he allow himself to get in a situation like this where every conversation had the potential to expose him and leave his reputation in tatters. Although he felt very gratified at having received no less than four replies, it simply wasn´t worth it.

* * *

><p>Reasoning it was probably the one place where they would never be discovered, he managed to hurry to his bedroom before dinner and hide the letters in the drawer of his desk. The rest of the evening passed in an agonizing slow pace until finally the moment came he could reasonably retire for the night. After performing his normal evening routines he sat down at the small desk, clad in his pyjamas and dressing gown and retrieved the letters. Opening the first one carefully with a paper-opener her began to read with interest.<p>

_Good sir, _

_Recently I noticed your ad in an issue of ´The Woman´s Magazine´ in which you express your desire for a correspondent. It was a pleasant surprise to find amidst the drabble and nonsense that one usually finds in such reading. I regard reading such magazines as a highly frivolous activity and strongly discourage my girls from indulging in it. _

_I currently find myself in the lucky position of Headmistress at Inglewood Institute for Young Ladies in Liverpool. I have held this position for the past seven years and I am very pleased with the progress I have made so far. I believe in holding a tight rein on the girls to prevent them from falling to destitution. Especially in this time when maintaining the most basic standards of decorum seems impossible to uphold. It is my firm believe that the world we now live in is in grave danger of becoming ruled by the most wanton and immodest code of conduct, not seen since the barbarians ruled Britannia. _

_You indicated a preference to a woman who knows her mind. You will be pleased to know that there are very few subjects on which I do not have an opinion. After being a headmistress for seven years I flatter myself to think that I have ample enough experience to be considered an expert in a great many matters. _

_You also mentioned that you are employed in a respectable position, for which I´m very glad. I do hope you have not exaggerated on that score, for I will not stand for any form of falsehood. _

_I look very much forward to corresponding with a gentleman-like person. In positions such a mine it can be hard to find someone with whom one can have an equal conversation. _

_With regards, _

_Catherine Pickering  
>Inglewood Institute for Young Ladies<br>Liverpool_

Releasing a deep breath Charles folded the letter back and placed it back upon his desk. He certainly liked a woman with a mind of her own, but this person could easily be considered to be a tornado. For a fleeting instant he realized this Catherine Pickering reminded him of Dowager Countess. Shaking his head, he opened the second letter rapidly, not allowing himself to dwell on that disturbing thought for a moment longer.

_My dear Sir, _

_How very pleasant it was to read your charming ad in ´The Woman´s Magazine´. Such a lovely read every month, isn´t it? May I compliment you, sir, on your excellent prose? _

_I´m afraid there is very little to tell about myself. I am a widow of 56 years old. My dear husband passed away twenty-five years ago and ever since I depend on the kindness of the members of the parish I belong to. Thankfully I couldn´t wish for more attending or obliging neighbours. They are always so kind of me. Ms Gartharet, the vicar´s daughter, stops by whenever she can, unless she is detained by one of the many occupations young ladies seem to have these days. But she´s such a charming, unaspiring girl. _

_My neighbours, Mr and Mrs Hillgrove, are most friendly. They have two young, lively boys and they often entrust them in my care. I confess, sometimes their youthful exuberance is a little too much for me, especially when I have enjoyed their company for the most part of the week, but they are such endearing children. _

_I live in a very cosy cottage, rather near the main road. It´s only a forty minute walk to the shops. I live there with my dear mother who is aged 87. I´m afraid she´s not always in the best of health, but she is very dear to me. I feel that growing older is a very tiring endeavour for us all. Do you share my sentiments? _

_I imagine that I am not a very intriguing creature and I do not flatter myself to think that I could ever rouse your interest, but if you are inclined to reply to my letter I would be very obliged to you indeed. _

_Thankfully yours, _

_Mrs Harriet Tate_

Blinking, Charles lowered the letter and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Perhaps there was something ridiculous about Mrs Tate, but he couldn´t help but pitying her at the same time. Briefly he wondered if this was the woman he wanted to respond to. But then he shook his head. She would probably perish in sheer gratitude.

Feeling a bit more apprehensive now then he had felt while opening the previous two letters, he took up the third envelope.

_Dear sir, _

_I write to you in response to the advertisement you posted in the latest issue of ´The Woman´s Magazine. I do hope you realize that stating you prefer a woman who ´knows her own mind´ is rather vague criteria, which let me to wonder whether you yourself know your own mind. _

_Lately I find myself compelled to find a respectable man to form a bond with and I was happy to find a person who meet that standard in you. Although some people might argue that placing an advertisement seeking a companion can be categorized as being definitely unrespectable. _

_Of course once one has reached a certain age the appearance of respectability can be far more easily obtained. _

_I am currently employed as a Lady´s maid to the honourable Lady Covington of Covington Hall in Sussex. I do hope your position in life does not vary greatly from my station. _

_Awaiting your reply, _

_Ms Irene Walstone  
>Covington Hall<br>Sussex_

´Well, the best thing that can be said of this letter is that it´s short,´ Charles bristled softly, not knowing whether to be amused or angry. When he had been a young boy he once had visited an uncle who lived near the seaside. Walking over the beach his six-year old self had come across a jellyfish who´d been washed on the shore. He had been enthralled by shimmering appearance of the sea creature. Unable to withstand the temptation, he had reached out to touch the glistering surface. Immediately he had been stung venomously and his fascination with the animal had evaporated far more quickly than the sharp pain from the sting did.

Reading Ms Walstone´s letter reminded him forcefully of that particular experience.

Sighing deeply he was sorely tempted now to just crawl in his bed and never bother with the letters or the advertisement again. Apparently all he was able to attract where lonely spinsters, dominant battle axes and… jellyfish.

For the umpteenth time he wondered what on earth he had been thinking. What had he ever expected to accomplish with this pointless endeavour? There was only one brown envelope left, lying on his bureau, but he found he had difficulty summing up the courage to open it. Eventually his sense of duty persevered. If this woman, whoever she was, had taken the trouble to write to him, the least he could do was to read her letter. With a heavy heart and no expectations whatsoever he opened the envelope and took out the cream-coloured, simple stationary and began to read.

_Dear sir, _

_I must confess I´m not in the habit of responding to personal ads. In this case however your advertisement has caught my attention and thus I find myself writing you this letter, much to my own surprise. Please do not think I condemn your actions. In fact I admire you for having the courage to take up this endeavour. It is most likely due to my own inexperience with this matter that I cannot help but feel apprehensive. _

_And now it seems I have to move to the precarious matter of trying to tell a little bit about myself. I´m not originally from England. I came to here twenty-five years ago when I went into service. At the moment I have a senior position at a rather large estate. Since I understand it´s not prudent to ask a lady her age I shall divulge to you that I left my hometown at the age of twenty-eight. I enjoy reading, walking and occasionally getting the better of various members of my staff. _

_For some reason your advertisement roused my interest, since you seemed to have given it a great deal of thought what sort of woman you would be interested in corresponding with. You mention you wish to exchange thoughts and views. So just in the interest of raising a topic: are you content with your life? Would you, provided you were given the chance, alter anything or have done anything differently?_

_I apologise if I appear somewhat vague on matters that would too easily give away very personal information. Please understand that although I am far from unwilling to start this correspondence with you, I am wary of the idea of giving away too much, too soon. Forgive me, I´m afraid I am a rather guarded person in this matter. Again, I would like to become your correspondent, but at this time I am not yet ready to reveal any more particulars. _

_As I have already given you my age, you can be assured that this reticence on my part will not remain indefinitely. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Elisabeth_

Charles found himself laughing out loud at the last line. He gazed down at the letter, smiling softly. Whoever she was, this Elisabeth, she might very well be the answer to his prayers. Carefully he re-read the letter, becoming even more struck with the notion how much this woman met all his expectations. The mere fact that she appeared to be slightly apprehensive about this whole business of personal ads relieved a lot of his own uneasiness on the matter. He easily picked up on the subtle humour between the lines and he imagined her as she wrote the letter.

The option of not divulging any personal information hadn´t yet crossed his mind yet, but reading her reasoning he decided that he couldn´t agree more. He didn´t need to know exactly who she was, or where she was, or what she looked like. He had a feeling that he would get to know the real Elisabeth – even if that was probably not even her real name – soon enough. Pulling a sheet of paper toward him, he started eagerly on his reply, for the first time truly glad he had placed that advertisement.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are very much appreciated!<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: And here´s the next bit. The plot thickens somewhat...  
>Ellie987: Thank you for pointing out the age-mishap. Elsie´s supposed to be 53, but I miscalculated 10 years. That´s what you get from mucking up the timeline for every other chapter. <em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<br>**Awkwardness and a letters  
><strong>_Early May 1913_

Isobel discovered that getting Dr Wellington alone in a room was turning into quite a challenge. Apparently he was as expertly avoiding her as she had shied away from his company in the last weeks. But one afternoon, as she was passing his office, she found him sitting there by himself. Through the glass window of the door she saw his tall frame bowed over the desk, busy filling out status cards. She had talked the matter over at length with Elsie. The latter had even gone as far as to ask Charles about Wellington´s puzzling behaviour. Unfortunately the butler couldn´t make them any wiser, not knowing himself what the reason was. Deciding this was probably the best chance she was going to get at finding out, she knocked briskly on the door before stepping in. He looked up a little bleary-eyed at being torn away from his work, but when he saw her close the door behind her with a decisive click he rose to his feet, his composure instantly stiffening.

´Can I have a word with you?´ Isobel asked calmly.

His jaw stiffened and he stood even taller. ´I´m rather busy at the moment, nurse Crawley,´ he informed her coldly. ´Can´t it wait until another moment?´

´No, I´m afraid it cannot wait,´ Isobel replied, a note of impatience in her voice now. ´The matter is too important to be delayed.´

´Very well,´ he relented, his unwillingness painfully apparent. ´What is so urgent then?´

´It is obvious that you are harbouring some feelings of dislike for me,´ Isobel told him, having rehearsed this line countless time already. ´And I very much would like to know what the reason is.´

´Please tell me you´re not one of those woman who insist on being ´liked´ all the time and who´ll throw a tantrum if someone doesn´t?´ he cut back haughtily.

Trying not to show her fury, Isobel looked him square in the eye. ´You´re avoiding the question. And don´t patronize me. When we first met you were behaving perfectly cordially towards me, until you found out what my name was. And I want to know why that is.´

If possible the look in his eyes became even harder. ´You really don´t know?´ he asked icily.

Feeling a little startled by the fact that he seemed to actually acknowledge the fact that he disliked her, she shook her head. ´No, I don´t. So tell me please!´

He opened his mouth as to reply, but closed it again after a moment of hesitation. This decision appeared to take a lot of his self-control and Isobel noticed that his hands were clenching in tight fists. The strain was also audible in his voice.

Almost growling he replied: ´I´m not going to enlighten you. I refuse to be manipulated by your antics again.´

Looking at him in utter confusion, Isobel was momentarily at loss for words. And before she could string a few coherent words together, their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened a second later to reveal Elsie´s face.

´I hope I´m not disturbing you?´ she asked.

´Not at all!´ Wellington replied, his face filling with relief. ´How may I help you?´

´It´s actually Mrs Crawley I´ve come to see,´ Elsie replied, eyeing the man in front of her curiously. She wasn´t strictly lying. She had come to invite Isobel over for tea. But it was also a perfect excuse to stop by at the hospital and investigate a little after the new doctor she had heard so much about and to see for herself if the man was really acting so abhorrently towards her friend. There was definitely ´an atmosphere´ in the room, she noticed instantly as she stepped inside. Isobel´s eyes were practically shooting daggers at the man standing next to her. It all begged for some clarification.  
>´It´s nice to meet you…´ She paused, looking imploringly at Isobel.<p>

´Oh excuse me,´ Isobel finally managed to gather her thoughts together. ´Elsie, this is Timothy Wellington, our new doctor. Dr Wellington, this is Mrs Elsie Hughes, the housekeeper at Downton.´

´Nice to meet you.´ Elsie shook the offered hand and thought to herself that at least the man wasn´t bad to look at. If one went for that type.

Meanwhile, Timothy Wellington was eyeing the woman in front of him with some interest of his own. So this was Elsie Hughes, the woman Charles had been mooning after for years, if he were to believe what Richard had told him. Well, the man had good taste, he had to grant him that. Smiling slightly at Elsie and trying to ignore Isobel as much as possible, he said: ´Well, you must excuse me, I…´

But once again the door of the office opened to reveal Charles and Richard, deep in conversation.

´… so in the end I decided to adopt the same precaution and didn´t reveal any personal information myself.´ Charles finished. Upon seeing the small gathering in the office he abruptly fell silent. ´Dr Wellington… Mrs Crawley… Mrs Hughes…´ he greeted them uncomfortably.

Much to her aggravation, Elsie felt herself blushing slightly. It was ridiculous really. She was so very used at being around Charles. There were days were she saw him literally every hour of the day, save for the six hours she slept in her bed. But on the rare occasion that she did bump into him unexpectedly, he still made her heart skip and her stomach flutter. Looking aside she noticed that Isobel was smirking. Now why was that?

Rewinding the last bit of his conversation in his head, Charles attempted to do some damage-control. How much had everyone and Elsie in particularly heard and what could they have guessed from it? Trying to calm his nerves somewhat, he realized that it couldn´t have been a lot.

Richard looked around the small circle and didn´t even bother to hide the wide grin that was forming on his face. ´Well, isn´t this nice?´ he commented sardonically.

´Hello! Is anyone in here?´ A light voice carried through the corridor and a second later, the small office became practically crowded as Maureen Thornton, the postal mistress came in.

Isobel watched in amazement as the easy grin disappeared from Richard´s face and was replaced by a look of great discomfort and… insecurity. She would probably have never believed it, if she hadn´t seen it for herself. There was nothing left of his charm and confidence. The doctor was obviously very ill at ease in the presence of Miss Thornton. She caught Elsie´s gaze and raised her eyebrows questionably.

Trying to hold back the grin that threatened to spill, Elsie looked away from Isobel and caught Charles´ eyes instead. That turned out to be a mistake as he almost imperceptibly rolled his eyes.

For a moment forgetting all fractions between them, Isobel and Wellington just looked incredulously at each other.

´Mrs Thornton…´ Richard eventually managed with some difficulty. ´What brings you here?´

´I´m doing the rounds,´ Maureen Thornton explained, indicating the large bag on her hip.

´But doesn´t your assistant usually do that?´ Elsie asked frowning.

´He´s indisposed at the moment, I´m afraid,´ Maureen replied, smoothing a heavy strand of black hair away from her forehead. ´Nothing too serious,´ she added hurriedly. ´Just a case of stomach flu from what I´ve gathered. But he´ll be unable to work for the rest of the week.´

´And that leaves you up and about, crossing the whole village on foot,´ Richard exclaimed rather exasperated.

Maureen glanced fleetingly at him. ´I don´t mind,´ she answered in her soft voice. ´I like a walk on a fine day like this. And finding you all here together saves me half of my walk to be honest.´ Reaching into her bag she took out a handful of letters. ´Let me see…´ She handed both Timothy and Charles a brown envelop and Elsie a white one.

When much later, the six of them discussed this very moment over a glass of fine port, they agreed that at this moment the cat could have come out of the bag, altering the course of events.

But it didn´t happen. For the three recipients, each of them knowing very well from who the letter had come, were so embarrassed that they hastily shuffled the letters in their respective pockets and handbag, never once looking at one another.

´Well, I´d better be off then,´ Maureen said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. ´Have a nice day.´ She smiled friendly across the room, her eyes lingering only a second longer on the face of Richard Clarkson.

* * *

><p>It was definitely with a feeling of apprehension that Timothy Wellington opened the letter he´d received earlier that day. After all, what could one expect from a woman who requested a ´<em>man who could weather the madness<em>´ in her ad? Complying to the rules of the bet, he´d written a short, cordial letter, indicating that he was interested in learning more about her. This hadn´t been a falsehood. He was interested in finding out what sort of woman would write an ad like that. He just wasn´t expecting very much in terms of receiving a sensible answer – let alone a sensible person behind the ad. He´s been sparse with personal details about himself, only divulging that he was a medic. To protect himself from surprises of any kind he´d chosen not reveal his last name and sign with his second name.

And so he began to read:

_´Dear Gregory, _

_You cannot imagine my relief at receiving a far more sensible answer then my silly ad had given cause to. Perhaps I should start with doing some explaining. I acquired the help of a good friend in composing the ad. When we were discussing my various character traits that should be exploited in the ad and what sort of preferences I had regarding any possible candidates, the conversation became somewhat frivolous and resulted in the advertisement you have obviously read. However, this ad was never supposed to be published. With my friend´s help I eventually wrote a more substantial and serious one. Unfortunately I send the wrong ad to the magazine by accident and I do not think I can really convey my mortification in words when I discovered what happened.  
>But perhaps it is all for the best. I have had some considerable difficulties coming up with an adequate way of describing my personality, but now I have the disputable ease of mind to know that my actions have spoken for themselves. <em>

_In the course of trying to restore some semblance of a good first opinion, allow me to share a little bit about myself. At least I can boast on honesty regarding my age. Asides from that it looks like I must conclude that good fortune has not completely deserted me yet – in the advertisement I intended to post I stated a preference for a man with an interest in medicines or science. You can imagine my happiness on discovering your profession. I have been widowed for ten years and my late husband was also a doctor. We were stationed in South Africa for a great many years and there I was trained as a nurse. Currently I am employed as a nurse in a local village. _

_I´ve you are not too put off by my recent antics and what I imagine can only be perceived as mixed impressions, I hope you still feel inclined to continue our correspondence. Please know that I am. _

_Sincerely,  
>I. <em>

Shaking his head and chuckling softly, Timothy lowered the letter. This woman turned out to be nothing he´d expected. She was charming and witty, with - and he was very relieved to conclude so – just the right amount of sensibility. Feeling very inclined to continue this correspondence with her, he resolved to write a lengthy reply the moment he found himself at leisure.

* * *

><p>His dislike of Isobel Crawley was deeply rooted. Spurred on by his recent experiences at London Hospital he often felt he could barely stand to be in the same room with her. The resentment for her actions, even after so many years, was still vehement.<p>

Still, he had to acknowledge that she was a very capable nurse. In the six weeks he´d been at Downton Hospital now, he had observed her closely as she moved around and tended to the patients. At first he had tried to find fault with her, anything that would back up his disapproval of her. But he found little to none. She could be opinionated and headstrong and she was definitely a force to be recognized with, but if he were honest with himself he found that if she´d been anyone but Isobel Crawley, he would have only admired those qualities. It was obvious, even to him, that she was very passionate about her work. It was her calling, her destiny almost to tend to the injured and sick.

Although he attempted very hard not to dwell on it, sometimes the memory of their first meeting resurfaced. He had liked her very much upon first appearance. Her knowledge and experience had captivated him instantly and he´d been duly impressed with her quick thinking in dealing with Mr Austin. He had liked her and his disappointment when he discovered who she really was had stung. It only made him resent her more and curse the evil trick fate was playing on him.

And yet, sometimes he thought that it was rather a challenge to resent a person who had so many redeeming qualities. She would be so much easier to hate if she wasn´t who she was, or rather, how she appeared. He couldn´t quite comprehend how this on the outside amazing woman could be the same person who had ruined his dreams and plans so thoroughly. He realized that a person could chance – that perhaps she had changed in the almost thirty years that had transpired between his last dealings with her. Perhaps he was the fool for holding on to his grudge for so long.

And perhaps if the business at London Hospital hadn´t happened, he would have found it easier to forgive her and move on. But as it was, he discovered that there was some comfort in his vendetta against her. If it hadn´t been for her, he wouldn´t have had to leave his position in a modern and progressive hospital in the capital of Britain and bury himself in a small village in the north of country, where the only consolation was the fact that he know worked alongside a friend. Given his latest misfortunes, he often wondered what would have happened – how his life would have turned out if it hadn´t crossed the path of Isobel Crawley all those years ago.

* * *

><p><strong>So, no secret, hidden passion... yet! <strong>

**Please let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: This chapter just begged to be posted on a Sunday... So in honour of the last Downton Day until december:_

Chapter 7  
><strong>Tea and Sunday leisure<strong>

Elsie always loved the Sundays during the Season. With the family gone and no pressing things to attend to – nothing that couldn´t wait until Monday morning, Sunday in those months really was a day of rest. Humming softly to herself she put the kettle on, awaiting the arrival of Isobel who was coming over for tea. The door of her parlour was slightly ajar and soon she was alerted to the arrival of another visitor when it meowed loudly to announce its presence.

Elsie smiled down at the small calico cat. ´Oh there you are! Well, you are welcome to stay, but I am expecting another friend as well.´

The cat purred loudly and rubbed its head against her ankle before jumping on the settee.  
>´No you won´t,´ Elsie told the animal. ´You´ve been shedding like mad all month. Come here…´ Retrieving a cloth, she spread it out over the settee and indicated the cat to sit on it. ´You can sleep here if you want, but you´re not getting hairs all over my sofa.´<p>

Pleased with this arrangement, the cat moved over to the cloth, yawned and stretched heavily and curled up. After rubbing the now sleeping cat behind her ears for a moment, Elsie straightened again and resumed preparing her tea.

Moments later a soft knock on the door announced that Charles was standing on the threshold. ´All ready?´ he asked.

Elsie nodded, beckoning him to come in. ´Isobel will be here in ten minutes or so. Do you have any plans for your afternoon off?´ she asked taking in his appearance. He was wearing his grey suit. She´d always liked that suit, it softened his features.

´I thought I might take a walk, the weather is rather fine,´ he replied. ´And I have some correspondence that needs my attention. Speaking of correspondence…´ he pulled a white envelope from his pocket. ´You have a letter… ´

Trying very hard to keep her facial expressions even, she accepted the letter, grateful once again for his complete ignorance of her actions. If only he knew what she had gotten herself into… ´Thank you,´ she said quietly.

´Elsie…´ he paused for a moment, not quite sure how to continue, not very accustomed to prying into her private affairs. 'Is it my imagination or have you been receiving a lot of letters lately?'

She knew she was blushing when she answered him. 'I have. I resolved to become a more faithful correspondent, so I have been writing a lot to my sister and various other acquaintances.'

Hoping he would accept her explanation she waited for his reaction. When it came it was something completely different of what she had expected.

He sneezed violently.

'Excuse me…' he muttered, pulling his handkerchief from the pocket of his coat. 'I…' Another sneeze overtook him.

'Elsie…' he managed finally. 'Do you have that wretched creature in here again?´

She laughed out loud at that. 'For your information Viviane is very good company.´

The cat had woken from the sound of his sneezes and was eyeing him rather disapprovingly. Wearily Charles glared back. 'You've actually named it?'

'She is a very nice cat,' Elsie informed him, grinning slightly. Last autumn, on a particularly rainy and windy day she had found a three month old kitten scampering around the stables. Unable to leave the poor thing to fend for itself she had taken it in, much to Charles' aggravation. After she had cleaned it up and feed it for a few days, she had discovered that it was actually a rather pretty cat with a snow white belly and paws and black and red patches on its back and face. She had kept caring for it, despite Charles' grumbling that there were too many cats to begin with and that autumn kittens were prone to be weak and feeble. Of course the fact that he had a slight allergy didn't help the matter, so Elsie made sure Viviane wasn't in when Charles came over for tea or a discussion of household matters. Still, she supposed he wasn't completely adverse to her familiar as she had caught him on various occasions feed her bits of cheese of ham.

He returned her grin and shook his head. 'Well, enjoy your afternoon with Mrs Crawley. I'll tell Anna and the other maids that you are not to be disturbed this afternoon.'

'I´d appreciate it,' she replied gratefully. 'Have a nice afternoon yourself.'

She watched him leave and then put the letter on her desk. It would have to wait until tonight, for now she was very curious to hear about Isobel's dealings.

* * *

><p>´… so although I suspect it´s on Dr Clarkson insistence, he is behaving more politely towards me and for that I´m grateful,´ Isobel finished telling.<p>

´And he still doesn't want to tell you what his beef with you is?´ Elsie asked incredulously.

Isobel shook her head. ´When you came into the office the other day he had just pointed that out very clearly. To my recollection I´ve never met him, I´ve never even heard of him, but apparently I have done something very terrible to him.´

´It´s an odd business,´ Elsie remarked thoughtfully.

´It is, but I have resolved not to fret about it any longer,´ Isobel said laconically. ´If he insists on detesting me, I´d better leave him to it.´ Abruptly changing the subject she looked questioningly at Elsie. ´I´ve been meaning to ask you this ever since our little encounter in that office – who is Maureen Thornton and what enigmatic powers does she have over Dr Clarkson?´

Pouring them another cup of tea, Elsie laughed at the memory. ´He certainly seemed rather flustered. I´d never thought I´d live to see the day…´

´Is there a history between them?´ Isobel asked curiously.

Elsie nodded. ´Quite a bit, actually. Ten years ago they were engaged to be married.´

´They never were!´ Isobel exclaimed in surprise. ´So what happened?´

´They broke it off all of a sudden,´ Elsie answered, frowning slightly. ´Or rather, she did… I didn't know either of them very well, but Mr Carson and Dr Clarkson have been friends for years. From what he told me about it I gathered they had been walking out for several years, and their wedding was impending, but then she ended their understanding.´

´And do you know why she did it?´ Isobel asked.

Elsie shook her head. ´I don´t think even Dr Clarkson himself fully understood her reason. But he was rather heart-broken over it. He went away for a while, but after a year or so he returned. During that time Miss Thornton took over the postal office. She never married and neither did he.'

'It appears that there is still something there,' Isobel mussed. 'I've never seen him so uncomfortable. And I thought there was nothing that could shake him out of his confidence.'

'I've wondered about it myself from time to time,' Elsie agreed. 'He has managed to avoid her for the most part and I think that is what explained his shock as she came in so unexpectedly.'

'Isn't she quite a lot younger than he is?' Isobel asked after some thought.

'She is,' Elsie confirmed. 'More than a decade actually. And I personally think that is what caused their break-up.' Upon Isobel's curious look she continued. 'You know Dr Clarkson and he's quite the character. Maureen Thornton however is rather quiet and a bit on the shy side. I don't doubt that they loved each other dearly, but there was always something of an… inequality between them.'

'I wonder they ended up together then,' Isobel commented.

Elsie shrugged slightly. 'A case of opposites attract perhaps? What I've always found interesting is that he never found anyone else, nor she for that matter.'

'In his case it wasn't for lack of trying,' Isobel said grinning.

'He'd charm the birds out of the trees,' Elsie nodded. 'But then again, it may be safe to state he's the biggest flirt of the county, but he has never actually pursued anyone after Mrs Thornton broke of the engagement.'

Isobel nodded thoughtfully. 'You're right about that. And again – not for lack of willing subjects. At the hospital alone there are several nurses who'd be happy to have him.'

Laughing, Elsie shot her friend a look. 'Are you among them?'

'Goodness no!' Isobel answered amused by the notion. 'He does flirt a lot with me, as he does with every female he encounters I suppose, but I've always felt his approach was a bit too obvious for my taste. What about you then? Would you fall for his charm?'

Elsie shook her head. 'As you said, too obvious. And I have to say… he is rather subdued in his behaviour towards me.' Rolling her eyes, she added with some humour: 'I try not take offence.'

A suspicion began to form inside Isobel's head and she paused for a moment before asking carefully: 'Did you say Mr Carson and Dr Clarkson were friends?'

They've been as thick as thieves for years,' Elsie replied. When she saw Isobel's knowing grin she raised her eyebrows. 'What?'

'Nothing,' Isobel replied, changing the subject again quickly. 'Did I tell you I received a reply to my ad?'

'No!' Elsie exclaimed, very interested. 'Please tell me, did you get a lot of replies?'

'No, just one,' Isobel answered happily. 'And it was from a nice man. I don't know what possessed him to write, but he did and he was very cordial and… normal.'

'Who'd have thought?' Elsie commented.

'And the best part is,' Isobel continued, sounding rather pleased. 'He's a doctor. So I got what I wanted after all. I already replied to him. This might actually be a rather splendid way to meet a potential suitor.'

'Well, it certainly worked out remarkably well,' Elsie replied, sounding a little in awe.

'Are you sure I can't convince you to post an ad of your own?' Isobel tried. 'It might be worth it.'

Elsie could feel the blush climbing from her neck to the roots of her hair. For a moment she wondered whether or not she should tell Isobel, but then she made her decision. After all, Isobel had confided I her. 'Well… actually…'

Eyes growing large, Isobel sat forward in her chair. 'You didn't! You send in an ad? When will they publish it?'

'I didn't post an ad. But you left your copy of '_The Woman's Magazine_' here a few weeks ago and I stumbled upon a rather interesting ad from a man who sought a correspondent. There was something about his words that caught my attention and I wrote to him,' Elsie confessed.

'I never thought you would…' Isobel said, duly impressed. 'And… what do think of him so far?'

'He's nice,' Elsie replied thoughtfully, a soft smile appearing on her face. 'He's a very thoughtful correspondent and he's funny as well… without trying to be. I like his opinions about things… We've been only writing each other for a few weeks, but I already like him a great deal.'

'And do you know anything about him? Where he lives or what he does?' Isobel was obviously getting more excited by this with each passing second.

'We don't divulge much personal information,' Elsie told her. 'So I don't know any particulars about him, but in a way that's even better. Because of it we don't have to waste our energy on small talk. We are actually sharing rather personal things while keeping our personal information away… does that make sense?'

'Oh my goodness!' Isobel seemed ready to burst with happiness. 'This is so exciting! Who knows where it might lead to.'

'I doubt it'll come that far,' Elsie answered rather soberly. 'I didn't write to him because I was looking for romance and I doubt that he is. It's just nice to exchange thoughts and views, that's all.'

'What is it?' she asked bewildered as Isobel just grinned broadly.

'If you are going to get married before me I am going to make you eat your words!'

* * *

><p><strong>For some reason Elsie always striked me as being a cat-person. As opposed to Charles. This was also my rather pathetic attempt to fic my own cat. <strong>


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
><strong>Confessions<strong>

'I'll be off now, sir, if that's alright with you,' the bony nurse told him.

'Thank you, Nurse Hobbs, of course,' Timothy said absent-mindedly. When the woman took up her things and started to leave he asked as an afterthought, 'How are you settling in here?'

'Oh… I'll be alright, sir,' the young nurse replied, a little on her guard. 'The people here are friendly enough.'

'Yes, I found that too,' he answered lightly. 'Well, I'm glad you like it here. Starting new somewhere is always a bit of a struggle, I've discovered that myself lately.'

'I suppose so, sir,' the woman didn't seem too keen on prolonging the conversation. Her pose was rather tense and her eyes kept darting towards the door. Deciding not to think too much of it, Timothy nodded. 'Very well, off you go then. Who will take over from you?'

'Nurse Crawley, sir, I just saw her enter the hospital.'

He resisted the urge to groan out loud. Richard was out to pay some visits, the other nurses were occupied at the ward, so it looked that he would be stuck with Isobel Crawley for the whole of consultation hour. He could only hope that the waiting room wasn't too full so he could escape to his office for the better part of the afternoon.

But of course his wish remained unfulfilled and it turned out to be a rather busy afternoon. Isobel entered the consultation room dressed in her white apron and a stern expression. She greeted him with a frosty voice that matched his own. In the next hour they treated a rather vicious cut on a farmer's hand, caused by a saw, an elder woman who was probably suffering from cataract, a persistent cough, a grown-in toenail and a broken wrist.

Despite the uneasy atmosphere between them, Timothy had to admit working together with her was rather effective. She seemed to be reading his thoughts, handing him the instruments he needed before he asked for it. He had noticed before and he noticed again how caring she was towards the patients. The old woman with the cataract had been sitting in the chair, practically trembling with fear. Isobel had given her a glass of water to drink, had explained in perfectly understandable terms how he would examine her and had held her hand as he had performed the examination.

Finally, consultation hour neared its end. Timothy could feel the tension that had stored in his shoulders as he eyed Isobel. 'How many more patients left in the waiting room?'

'Just one, doctor,' Isobel replied matter-of-factly. 'A boy and his mother.'

'Very well,' Timothy sighed. 'Show them in.'

Moments later he looked in the face of a pale, worried-stricken boy who was around ten years old. 'And what's your name?' he asked, trying to sound friendly and reassuring.

'I'm Seamus Finch, sir,' the boy replied nervously, avoiding his eyes.

'And can you tell me what is the matter with you, Seamus?' Timothy asked calmly, trying to ease the obviously frightened child.

'His back hurts, doctor,' his mother replied instead. 'He won't let me have a look at it, but he's been walking stiffly all day.'

Tentatively Timothy placed his hand on the boy's back, just to see how he would react to that. Immediately the boy shrank under his hand, whimpering softly. A horrible suspicion started to form in his mind and he briefly caught Isobel's look, seeing an equally worried expression in her eyes.

'You're in a great deal of pain, aren't you?' he asked gently and Seamus nodded, his eyes still down casted.

'You'll have to take off your shirt, so I can see what's wrong with your back,' Timothy told him kindly, but with a note of authority in his voice. 'Can you do that for me?'

Dejectedly the boy shrugged his shoulders and lowered his suspenders. As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt the tension in the room became tangibly. When the piece of clothing finally fell from his back the three adults in the room stood rooted in shock.

Timothy, who was standing directly behind the boy didn't bother to hide the distress on his face as he saw how the child's back was covered in angry, violent red stripes, running all the way across his back. The skin around the lashes had turned a nasty shade of black and blue and Timothy wondered how it was possible the boy could even move around.

He looked at Isobel. She was standing in front of the boy, looking over his shoulders at his bruised back. For a split second after his wounds were revealed he saw a look of pure horror fill her face, but a moment later she had again composed herself and she looked down at the boy. As she spoke, her voice was soft and caring.  
>'What happened to you, Seamus?'<p>

And despite himself a sense of admiration for her filled him. Then quickly his attention returned to the mumbled reply from the boy.  
>'I fell from a tree.'<p>

'It wasn't my husband!' Mrs Finch' high pierced voice filled the room. 'He would never lay his hands on the children… never!'

His mother's outburst made Seamus look up, his face filled with anguish. 'I just fell!' he screamed, tears starting to run down his face. 'Nobody did anything, I just fell from a tree! Honest!'

'Mrs Finch…' Isobel had turned around and placed her hand reassuringly on the arm of the sobbing mother. 'Nobody is accusing you or your husband of anything. Why don't you step out for a glass of water and some air? In the meantime Dr Wellington will see to Seamus' injury and make him more comfortable.' As she was talking, she led the woman to the door. 'I'll call you back the second he's tended to.'

Once Mrs Finch had left, Isobel turned to Wellington. While she had been addressing the mother, he had helped Seamus on the treatment table. Walking over to her, well out of the boy's ear-shot he told her so quietly only she could hear: 'You see to his wounds, I want to find out what happened to him.'

She nodded grimly and filled a bowl with water and took out a cloth. Seamus was sitting on the edge of the table, his hands gripping the edge tightly, his eyes shut.  
>'Seamus…' she started softly. 'I'm going to clean out the wounds on your back and then I'm going to apply some crème on it, so it won't hurt as bad anymore. But it might sting at first, so you'll have to be very brave for a while.' The boy nodded and gripped the edge of the table even tighter.<p>

Her heart constricting painfully and feeling a little sick to her stomach, Isobel dipped the cloth in the luck-warm warm water and applied it as gently as she could to the most venomous looking lash. The boy shuddered a little, but remained perfectly still.

In the meantime, Timothy had pulled up a chair and placed it in front of Seamus before sitting down on it.

'So, you fell from a tree?' he asked casually.

'I did,' the boy answered through half-closed eyes.

'You must have climbed very high,' Timothy observed.

Seamus only nodded in response.

'And the tree obviously gave you a good trashing before you fell,' Timothy said, not moving a muscle.

'I told you, I just fell! I was just being stupid!' Seamus cried out.

Timothy shook his head rather determinedly. 'Lad, you couldn't have gotten this wounds from falling from a tree. And I've been a doctor long enough to know that for a fact. The wounds look like you have received a beating and a rather severe one at that.' He looked over the boy's shoulder to his back and added: 'From the looks of it with a stick or something. So, who did this to you?'

'Mr Jenkins,' Seamus whispered quietly.

'The schoolmaster?' Isobel asked in surprised.

Seamus nodded. 'It was my own fault. I was talking to my friend during mathematics. He called me to the front of the class and said I was a subordinate, headstrong boy and that I ought to be punished. He said I deserved the beating.'

It was the dejected tone in the boy's voice that got to Isobel the most. She looked at Wellington, but he was entirely concentrated on the boy in front of him.  
>'And what do you think?' he asked calmly.<p>

The boy shrugged and then winched in pain. 'I suppose he's right. I talk all the time… and I laugh when I shouldn't. And I can't sit still for so long… my dad always says it's like I've got ants in my pants… Mr Jenkins says I have a will-full nature and that he should punish me to correct my ways.'

'Has he beaten you before?' Timothy asked, having a very hard time keeping his voice levelled.

'A few times,' Seamus admitted. 'But this time he was really angry.'

_You don't say_! Isobel thought furiously to herself as she carefully began to apply the crème. _There almost isn't a piece of skin left that isn't bruised . _

'I try to be good,' Seamus continued after a pause, sounding very sad. 'But no matter how hard I try, I never manage. So I suppose Mr Jenkins is right and I'm just bad.'

'You're not bad,' Timothy answered pointedly. He waited until he had Seamus' full attention before he continued. 'Talking and laughing and not being able to sit still doesn't make you bad, it makes you a boy. Nobody deserves to be beaten the way you were and you certainly didn't do anything to deserve it.'

'But I get in trouble all the time,' Seamus answered, 'I'm sure you never got in trouble when you were in school.'

'Oh, I got in trouble, believe me!' Timothy replied, chuckling to himself.

This idea certainly seemed like a novelty to Seamus and his eyes widened in surprise. 'Really, what did you do?'

Timothy laughed out loud at the question and Isobel couldn't help but stare at his face in wonder for a moment. She was so used to his scowling expression that this transformation almost knocked her off her feet. When he laughed the years seemed to disappear from him. The deep frown ceased from his brow and his eyes shone merrily. But what she noticed most were the full dimples that appeared on either side of his mouth. Blinking slightly she listened with renewed interest to what he had to say.

'Well, in the row in front of me, directly in front of me sat a girl with a very long plait,' Timothy began his tale. 'The end was very thin and held together by a piece of ribbon. It looked very much like a paintbrush and one day I just took it without her noticing and put in my inkbottle.'

Seamus eyes went wide before he dissolved into giggles and Isobel was hard pressed not to laugh herself. 'What happened then?'

Timothy ducked his head as he continued. 'She sat there with her plait in my inkbottle for about twenty minutes, but then the teacher asked her a question, so she rose to answer it. As she stood she pulled her plait from the inkbottle and it fell on her back, leaving a big, black stain on her dress. Of course all the children in the rows behind me started to snicker and then the game was up.'

'Did you get whipped for it?' Seamus asked, a little aguishly.

'I didn't,' Timothy was quick to reassure him. 'Although I had to wear a dunce cap for the rest of the day.'

More seriously he continued: 'What I'm trying to tell you is that no child should receive the sort of beating you got. Boys get into mischief, there's nothing wrong with that. As long as you're not purposely being cruel or vindictive, you are not bad. Never forget that.'

Seamus only nodded in reply, but Isobel could feel the change in his body immediately. He sat up more straight and the tension left his body. A few minutes later she was done with applying the crème and as Seamus got back in his shirt, Isobel ventured out in the hallway in search for his mother. In a few short sentences she conveyed to the mother what Seamus had told them and as a grim expression settled on Mrs Finch' face, Isobel knew Mr Jenkins hadn't heard the last from it.

Once Seamus and his mother had left, Isobel turned back to Wellington, noticing his relaxed and easy demeanour had left entirely and was replaced with cold fury. Only this time it wasn't directed at her.

'I'd give a lot to give that bastard of a teacher a good piece of my mind,' he spat, pacing up and down the room furiously.

'The boy certainly was in a sorry state,' Isobel replied, leaning against the table and trying to get the imagine of the Seamus' beaten and bruised back from her mind.

'There is absolutely no excuse for it!' Timothy continued to rant. 'If a grown man needs that amount of physical force to ensure a sense of order in his classroom he should look for a different profession. I can tell you this, when I worked in London I went to the gaol to check on the inmates there every month and none of them ever looked as bad as that boy. I's a very distressing thing when a country treats its prisoners better then it treats it's children! And you know what the worst part is?' he turned around to face Isobel, his eyes blazing. 'Apart from the physical wounds he's messing with that boy's mind as well. He really believes it's his own fault he got whipped like that.'

'It's not me you need to convince,' Isobel replied soothingly, despite her own feelings. In fact, she found that she really enjoyed seeing her own anger mirrored in his eyes. 'And I think you really managed to ease his fears in regard of his believing he deserved that beating. That was a very nice thing you did.'

He stared at her for a few seconds, a ray of emotions playing across his face. Eventually he straightened his shoulders and his manner became composed and aloof again. 'Well, in any case, I won't rest until that schoolmaster is relieved from his post. Thank you for assisting me today, Nurse Crawley.'

He left with a formal nod of his head, leaving Isobel behind with very conflicting feelings.

* * *

><p>The letter – her letter had been lying on his desk all afternoon, but he couldn´t muster the courage to open it and read it. Charles Carson sighed to himself. He was a very, very stupid man. Just as he had been given the chance he had ruined it again.<br>Over the past weeks the letters between himself and Elisabeth had been exchanged on a rather swift rate. He found he was looking forward to her replies immensely and although they still hadn´t disclosed much detailed personal information, she was rapidly getting to know many things about him. Taken her example, he had decided to use the name of his father to keep his identity hidden. Only now he feared he had overstepped the mark grossly, had offered more knowledge of him then she would be willing to take. Whatever had possessed him to talk about his time on stage? They had been talking about regrets, she had confided in him that she regretted deeply not having a family of her own. ´_It never really bothered me when I was younger, because I always thought I still had the opportunity if I wished to turn my life around. Until a while ago when I discovered that time had run out, that I couldn´t have that family anymore, even if the chance presented itself. Do you have regrets? Things you´d give anything to undo?´  
><em>And he had told her about his ´years of stupidity.´ About his wish to be free and on his own, being his own master. How he had met Charles Grigg and how they had ended up on the stage together, singing, tap dancing and doing magic-tricks. How he had loved the fame and the thrill at first, how the sound of applause had made him feel like he was someone of substance. How he had convinced himself to believe that the hunger, the cold, the dingy rooms they slept in were only a small price to pay. It had been his pride, his abominable, cursed pride that had stopped him from admitting to himself that he wasn't happy at all, that he was loathing the life he was living.

It hadn´t been until Grigg had stolen the evening profit of a small theatre they´d been performing at for a week that his good sense had finally returned. A common thief. His cheeks still burned with the shame of it. He had returned to Yorkshire and visited his mother. Because of her interference he had managed to secure himself a post as footman at Downton. He had tried to put the past behind him, tried to make up for his mistakes. He even went as far as to send his first wages to the owner of the little theatre Griggs had robbed. And still, the mortification never went away fully. The old Lord Grantham had been explicit in his praise for the eager young footman who showed so much dignity and had such impeccable manners. But every time his Lordship had mentioned those qualities, he had felt the burning sensation of shame. A shame that remained with him as the years went by. He still woke up in the middle of night occasionally, still half in the throes of a vicious nightmare – he was standing on the stage, singing, tap-dancing, making priced fool out of himself and the audience was filled with all the faces of those he held so dear. Lord Grantham, Lady Mary, the Dowager Countess , Elsie… they were laughing, cheering, booing him and the noise grew louder and louder, until he woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his sheets tangled around his feet.

When Grigg had come to Downton a few months ago he had thought his nightmare had become a reality. He had strived to keep him away from the house, away from his family. He had tried his utmost, alienating the ones he loved from him in the progress. Until his disgrace had been revealed. He had waited for Lord Grantham´s verdict, for his condemnation. It hadn´t frightened him in that moment, knowing that whatever his Lordship had to say wouldn´t be any harsher then the judgment he had passed on himself.  
>His Lordship´s easy dismissal of Grigg, his almost antipodal calming words, ´<em>my dear fellow, we all have chapters we´d rather kept unpublished<em>´ had left him bewildered and very grateful. When he discovered that neither Anna nor Mr Bates would reveal his past he had been able to breath freely again for the first time in weeks.

But the events had left him shaken and for weeks afterwards he had felt ill at ease. Elsie had never found out, although he had been aware of her worried gaze. She had known something was amiss. She had tried to rally his spirits when he had been particularly down one afternoon, telling him that he was ´_a man of integrity and honour, who raises the tone of this household by being part of it.´_ But she hadn´t know the truth and he found he didn´t have the courage to enlighten her.

When Elisabeth had asked him up-front what his regrets were, this whole, humiliating experience had resurfaced clearly in his mind and one evening, by the low light of an oil-lamp he found himself penning down his tale, his worries and his shame. Without thinking much further on it he had posted the letter the following day. Now he deeply regretted it. For how would she react?

Eventually when the fear itself surpassed his fear of opening the letter and reading her reply he reached out with a shaking hand and opened the envelope.

_´Dear Harold, _

_You wrote in your last letter that this time of year is always a bit quieter for you, so I hope you are enjoying it.  
>I must say I feel honoured by the amount of trust you have placed in me with telling me about your past. Will you allow me to share some of my thoughts on what you have told me?<br>You speak of your shame and humiliation and although to some extent I can understand why you wished at this stage of your life that you had made different choices, I do not think that what you did or who you have been was something so ghastly it merits such self-loathing.  
>When I was a girl, I believe I was sixteen or so, an aunt took me to London and one evening we went to the music halls. I loved every second of it and to this day I still remember all the songs that were performed that evening. I still sing them occasionally – badly so. Had you asked me that evening what I thought was the most thrilling, most exciting profession in the world, I would have told you that it was being on stage. Would you call me a fool for thinking that? In the two years you have been on stage you have undoubtedly made dozens of girls feel the way I felt that night. Happy and carefree and with a head filled with pretty music and dreams. And that is not a crime, not even in the slightest. <em>

_You were never cruel, you were never mean or dishonest. You merrily sang on a stage. And if you have managed to do it for two years it is obvious you were talented. And then you decided to turn your life around and cultivate other talents and you have made a good life for yourself.  
>I do not claim to know you very well, but from what I know of you I know you to be an honourable, honest man, who is much harder on himself than any other sensible person would be. ´ <em>

Swallowing deeply, Charles lowered the letter, his mind too overcome with emotion to form a coherent thought. He had entertained hopes of finding a kind, intelligent lady to correspond with, but Elisabeth surpassed all his hopes and dreams. Suddenly and for the first time he could picture her as the woman besides Elsie who could make him happy. He felt a small twinge of guilt when he thought of his best friend. Had anyone asked him a month ago, he would have sworn that no woman could make him feel the way Elsie did. That he could never love anyone besides her. But this Elisabeth stirred something equally in him. It excited him and made him nervous at the same time. The rush of affection he felt for this unknown woman was fierce and unexpected, but nevertheless real. Looking down at the letter again, he absent-mindedly rubbed his finger over her signature.

_Yours affectionate,  
>Elisabeth<em>

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><p><strong>I hope you´ve all enjoyed that. Please let me know what you think! <strong>


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: My lovely beta _**stuckinpast**_ send me back a bunch of chapters, so here we go. Thanks to everyone for the reviews and alerts, they are much appreciated!  
>Those of you who have read ´A Token of Honour´ will recognize Mr Hale, the nervous baker.<br>The scene with Richard and Maureen at the dance is loosely based on a scene from Mona Lisa Smile.  
>Hope you´ll enjoy!<em>

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><p>Chapter 9<br>**Reminiscing**

Between finishing his monthly report to the Dowager Countess, treating a heart-attack and paying three house calls in the span of an hour – after having been up all night delivering a bay, Richard Clarkson decided his morning could certainly be described as hectic. It was almost noon already and only now he was finally able to pour himself a cup of coffee and sit down behind his desk, the half-written report still staring at him.

However his peace was of short duration when a knock on the door announced yet another person who needed his attention. ´Come in!´ he called out wearily.

´Good morning, Dr Clarkson.´ He would have recognized her voice from among a thousand others and instantly his tiredness was replaced with a nervous energy.

´Miss Thornton!´ he replied, jumping to his feet. A dozen thoughts crossed his mind in the span of a mere second. He gazed at her, checking for any sign of injury or illness that could be the reason for her coming to the hospital. He took in the sight of her, her face flushed from the walk, the heavy mailbag on her side and the smile that still haunted his dreams. He endeavoured to maintain a professional composure, he tried to get his breathing and voice under control and think of something intelligent to say. It all accumulated in a few short, briskly spoken words:

´What brings you here?´

´I have a parcel for you and a letter for Dr Wellington,´ Maureen replied, holding out both items to him.

He took them thoughtlessly, frowning slightly as he asked: ´You´re still doing the rounds then?´

Maureen sighed a bit in reply. ´Well, as it turned out my assistant suffered from a little more than a simple stomach flu… He went home to his parents in Rippon to get better, but last week I got a letter from his father, telling me that his appendix has been removed. He´ll be recovering for another three weeks at least.´

´Leaving you to manage the postal office on your own?´ he asked incredulously.

She shrugged lightly in reply. ´Well, it isn´t as if he did it on purpose. And this time of year isn´t too busy, so I´ll manage.´

He looked wholly unconvinced at her words, but decided to let the matter drop.

´I do need you to sign for the parcel though,´ she reminded him gently. Just as he was about to reach into his pocket for a pen, the door of his office flew open and a heavy, panic-stricken man burst in, his face ashen-white and wet with perspiration, clutching a cloth around his hand. ´Doctor… you have to help me!´ he grunted out.

´Mr Hale,´ Richard greeted the baker calmly. ´What is the matter with you?´

´I´ve cut myself…´ the large man wailed, quivering with fright. ´I´m bleeding to death!´

´Please Mr Hale, sit down!´ Maureen quickly pulled a chair in front of the man and urged him to sit down, concern evident in her face.

´Let me have a look, Mr Hale,´ Richard said calmly, trying to pry to cloth away from the man´s hand.

´It all happened in a flash!´ the baker panted, obviously still highly distressed. ´Like I told the Mrs… just a flash, one moment I was carving bread, the next moment there was blood everywhere. Absolutely everywhere! The Mrs was reaching for her smelling salts and I thought I knew for certain that I had lost my hand… the pain! And there was so much blood, I didn´t even know a person could have that much blood inside him and neither did the Mrs… I managed to bandage it up a bit, could have used an entire sheet… will I be able to keep use of my hand? I need to, I´m a baker you see… the Mrs can´t do it all by herself….´

Maureen blinked in surprise as the man rambled and raved unwaveringly. For all the drama he portrayed, he couldn´t be injured too severely. As Richard barred his hand, she noticed the cut was nothing more than a superficial scratch that had left a small stain on the cloth.

´I assure you Mr Hale, you will make a full recovery,´ Richard told the man in a perfectly even voice. But for a mere instant he caught her eyes and she noticed the twinkle in his eyes .

´It´s all such a dreadful business…´ Mr Hale continued to moan. ´And the poor Mrs… she´ll be sick with worry… absolutely sick with worry… and it´s almost noon and she´ll have the stew ready and I won´t be there to eat it… she´s always had a bit of a nervous character…´

´If you´d like I'll stop by at the bakery on my round,´ Maureen offered kindly. ´I´ll tell Mrs Hale you´re being looked after by Dr Clarkson and that you´ll be home as soon as you´re finished here.´

´Oh would you?´ The relief on the face of the distressed man was obvious.

´I´ll fetch one of the nurses to disinfect the wound and dress it,´ Clarkson said, walking Maureen to the door. ´That´s very nice of you,´ he told her softly, as soon as he was certain they were out of ear-shot.´

´It´s no trouble,´ she reassured him. She cast back a glance and Mr Hale. ´Will he be alright?´

´His hand will be,´ Richard replied soberly.

Maureen caught on to his tone and laughed before another thought crossed her mind. ´You still need to sign for the parcel. But there´s no hurry, you can always come by at the postal office and do it later on.´

´I will,´ he agreed, much to her surprise. ´I might stop by once my shift is over. In the meantime, don´t you overdo things. If you want to, I can ask around for someone to help you out, while your assistant is recovering.´

´That´s kind of you,´ she answered, genuinely touched by his concern. ´ But I´ll manage. ´I know how to run a postal office, it´s what I do best.´

´I know you do,´ he replied, a hint of bitterness appearing in his voice. ´I know.´

* * *

><p>Maureen Thornton had been completely truthful when she had told Richard that she enjoyed doing the rounds. It had been the one drawback from being promoted to postal mistress all those years ago. As an assistant she had thoroughly enjoyed her walks through the village and even now she still often felt coped up in the tiny postal office.<p>

Her thoughts drifted back to her short encounter with Richard in the hospital earlier that morning. She smiled softly at the memory. It had been such a long time ago since the two of them had just talked and been able to share a laugh without a strain between them. Her smile turned wry and she heaved a deep sigh as she felt the memories flooding back. And with them the familiar, stinging feeling of deep regret.

The night she met Richard stood as vividly in her mind as if it had only happened yesterday. She had been an assistant to Downton´s previous postal mistress, the formidable Mrs Dale, for over a year when one evening in October she had attended Downton´s annual ´Harvest Dance.´ She clearly remembered how she had dreaded the event. Large gatherings of people didn´t sit well with her, especially when she was in the company of the boisterous Agatha, Mrs Dale´s niece and her friend at the time.

They had gone to the dance at the village hall in a pack of four girls. She had resigned herself at being left at the table, watching other couples dance and pretending to like observing people. It was always the same. Agatha, loud and unmistakable present would gain the attention of the room, securing a request to dance from whoever held her fancy at the moment. Her two friends Emma and Lucy would follow in her wake, each of them pretty and outspoken girls as well and she would be left to fend for herself. _Mousy Maureen… _the nickname had tailed her since her schooldays and although she rationally knew her friends never meant to say it in a mean spirit, it stung nevertheless.

She had noticed him the moment he walked in. He had already been a doctor at the hospital for a few years. His hair had still been a reddish brown and the moustache had been a fairly new development. Sitting at her table, observing him from behind her glass of cider she´d thought that it suited him well. She watched as he talked and joked with her friends. She watched and noticed she wasn´t the only woman looking at him.

When he had come over to her table and asked her to dance with him she had been flabbergasted, until she realised he was probably just being polite. ´He´s just being courteous,´ she had told herself as he had led her to the dance floor. Still, it was nice of him to ask her and it had certainly been a memorable experience. The feel of his hand on her back, the way he led her effortlessly through the dance, his easy banter and the way he hummed along to bits and pieces of the music.

She fully expected the brush-off when the song ended. But instead, as the orchestra picked up a softer, much slower tune, he had pulled her closer. Resting her head tentatively against his shoulder, her heart in overdrive, she had ceased to wonder about the why, but just enjoyed it wholeheartedly.

He had stayed close at her side for the remainder of the evening. They had danced, talked, laughed… she had been amazed to discover that she possessed the ability to make him laugh as well. The dreaded event turned into one of the most wonderful evenings of her life and when she had laid in her bed that night, unable to sleep, she had relived it again and again.

After that evening she often happened to come across him as she was making her rounds around the village, delivering the mail. Their meetings brightened her day and she very much enjoyed his company, but it never occurred to her that he met her by design, that he had taken a fancy to her, until one afternoon he had just kissed her, in the middle of a country road.

From there on their courtship had begun. There was quite an age-difference between them, but they seemed to be the only ones not bothered by it. She had never been so ridiculously happy as in those months. He made her so very happy. It still amazed her that he had picked her out of all the women he could have chosen, but he was adamant in his declarations and displays of his love for her.

He had proposed to her on Christmas Eve, after she had wondered all day why he was so nervous and tense. When the evening came he had presented her with his gift. Inside the beautiful wrapping paper she had found – to her great surprise – a small, velvety box. After opening it, her eyes had filled with tears as she saw the elegant ring. When she´d looked up he was already on one knee, reaching out for her hands, his voice unusually hoarse and strained as he asked her to become his wife.

During their engagement her worries began. It wasn´t in any way his fault. His devotion was unwavering and he never gave her the slightest reason to doubt his fidelity to her. The demons resided inside her own head, poisoning her thoughts until she couldn´t see clearly anymore.

She had never understood his love for her. She had accepted it, returned it, cherished it, but she never agreed with it. Why her? Why Mousy Maureen when he could have any woman? She knew he was open and outgoing. She knew he turned quite a few heads. She knew being flirtatious was in his nature. So why did he insist on marrying a shy, dull girl who had never been called anything more than ´nice-looking´?

She wasn´t the only one who wondered about it. Occasionally she caught whispers of conversation. How had _she_ managed to snatch up the most eligible bachelor of the village? Agatha Dale went even as far as too outright ask her this. And as she didn´t know the answer herself, the other woman coldly remarked it might just be a fleeting fancy. Emma and Lucy were equally incredulous and between their comments and her own thoughts her doubts increased.

At first being with him diminished any apprehension she felt. The moment he took her in his arms, kissed her and whispered how much he loved her, her confidence soared and she could believe everything would be alright. But once alone again, her doubts and worries returned with full vengeance.

Wasn´t she tying him down to a life he was surely going to regret? Because one day he was going to wake up and regret that he had chosen her and he would want to be free of her. It could take a week or a year, but he would become bored with her, grow tired of her and in the end come to resent her. As happy as he made her, as unhappy she would make him. And that was the thought that was the most unbearable. She would make him unhappy. She loved him more than anyone in the world, but she would be the cause of his unhappiness.

And after weeks of doubting and deliberating the final straw came when Agatha asked her in an off-handed manner if she worried about pleasing her husband once they were married. Her insides had turned cold at the comment and she had blushed and stammered, unable to form a coherent reply. Agatha´s condescending, reassuring: _´… but I´m sure you´ll be alright_´ had had the complete opposite effect.

That same evening she had gone to see him at the hospital and gave him back his ring and his freedom. She´d held herself deaf to his pleas, truly believing that she was doing the right thing and that he would one day be thankful.

The first week after their break-up had been the hardest, most miserable time of her life. She had cried until she had no tears left. Instead of the relief she had expected to feel, she just felt empty and mean. And then, after that week he had suddenly left the village. She had heard it at the postal office on Monday morning, when he was already gone. The ache that filled her at the thought that she would never see him again had shattered what was left of her heart.

In the months that followed she slowly, very slowly managed to find her footing again. Mrs Dale resigned unexpectedly and she was offered the post of postal mistress which she gratefully took, eager to have something to do. And work she did. She transformed the postal office to an efficient, professional service, thriving personally from having found something she excelled at.

After a year he had returned to Downton. She heard the news in the same matter she had heard of his departure – on a Monday morning in the postal office. They week had dragged by endlessly until it was Sunday and she knew she would meet him in church.

When she saw him her heart had given the familiar flutter and she had known without a shadow of a doubt that she loved this man and would never love another. She had looked at him until he had finally looked back. But when their eyes had met, over the pews separating them, she had found that his gaze was devoid of the love and admiration that had been there before a year ago. He looked at her in a cold, indifferent manner, giving her only the barest of nods to acknowledge her presence. And she had understood. After all, what else could she have had expected?

He took up his job at the hospital and as the years went by he became a very prominent member of the community. She knew he had the reputation of being a bit of a flirt and she had dreaded the moment until he would form an attachment again. But he never did. He did, however, continue to avoid her at all costs. He never came to the postal office and since she had an assistant of her own to walk the rounds now and could boast on having an excellent health, there never was any reason for her to visit the hospital. She´d given up going to the Harvest Dance years ago and at every other social function she managed to arrive at the moment he was leaving or vice versa. She only met him in church weekly, the small nod they exchanged the only form of communication left between them.

Still, the years had changed her. Feeling confident at her job, knowing that she was a valued and trusted member of the community herself had done wonders for her self-esteem. She´d grown older and a bit wiser. She would never be spontaneous, or outgoing but she grew content with just being her quiet, thoughtful self. She discovered that a friendship which consisted of condescending slights, manipulation and regular put-downs wasn´t worth the name of it and ended all contact with Agatha Dale. Mousy Maureen had disappeared, to never return again.

But with these new insights also came a new, bitter regret about the way she had treated Richard. With a bit more experience and sense she finally understood just how much he had loved her, how much he had wanted to be with her. And how deeply she had hurt him when she had thrown that love back in his face. Sometimes she felt she would gladly give anything if she could turn back the time and undo what she had done. The irony of it wasn´t lost on her either. She had, of her own accord managed to do in a spectacular fashion what she had been afraid to do all along: to cause his unhappiness. She had lost him and it had been her own doing. To use a quote from her favourite novel: _she had used him ill_. And no measure of regret could undo it.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Harold, <em>

_I am glad you did not take offense to my rather blunt observations. Rest assured that I did mean what I said. I do not think anyone in their right mind would hold it against you that you have spent a few years of your life in a music hall. So no more shame and guilt please!_

_In reply to your question: yes I had my chance once to marry and have a family of my own. It is funny you should ask that, I have found myself thinking about him frequently over the last few weeks. It´s not a very grand tale, I am afraid. We grew up together in the same village. His parents had a farm as mine did and he would follow in his father´s footsteps and take over the farm. We had been walking out together for a few months when he proposed to me. It took me two days to make up my mind, but in the end I refused him. Very much to my mother´s aggravation, I am sad to report. I have often been told that I have a temper that matches her, but based on that single event, I know for certain that it is not so. And I could not explain it to her, because I didn´t even understand myself why I did not wanted to marry him. _

_He was a nice man. He was kind and a hard worker. He had good prospects. My life would have been secured had I accepted him, but I never could bring myself to do it. I liked him, I respected him, but I did not love him. And I believe that feeling was mutual. So a marriage, even as prudent as it seemed, would have ended in a disaster. A very quiet, well-mannered disaster – no one would have noticed a thing perhaps- but a disaster nevertheless. I could not be happy with a man who only saw what I could do, rather than to see who I am. Does that make me very fastidious? _

_He was a good friend and I liked him. But trying to turn our relationship into something that it wasn´t, would have destroyed it. _

_But now I wonder about you: once you decided to go into service, did you give up on the idea of having a family of your own?_

_Yours affectionately,  
>Elisabeth<em>

* * *

><p><em>Dear Elisabeth, <em>

_You could not be fastidious even if you tried. I believe it takes a great strength of character to stay true to your values, as opposed to choose for the security a marriage can offer. It is rather disheartening to realize a man can be so oblivious to the worth of the woman he is proposing to, but I would say that it is his loss. _

_Something you wrote has been mulling in my thoughts ever since I received your letter. How trying to change a relationship into something it is not can only destroy it. I tend to agree with you on this matter. Good relationships are so very important. Whether it is between a husband and a wife, a parent and a child, an employer and an employee or co-workers, it is what shapes us in the person we are. I have been tempted to change some of these relationships, to turn them into something different, but I never went through with it for the fear of destroying it. _

_I suppose in a way this answers your question; I did not fully give up the idea of having a family of my own, but since I went into service I have not find myself in a relationship that had the potential of progressing to a romance. _

_I have come to enjoy reading your letters and writing to you very much, Elisabeth. For some reason I do not quite grasp myself I find it easy to talk to you. Even in these short weeks of our acquaintance I have come to value your friendship highly. I do not know where it will lead us, but please be assured that I will always treat it with great care. _

_Your friend,  
>Harold<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Would you like to guess what Maureen´s favourite novel is?<strong>


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: Here we go again, more Elsie/Charles and Isobel/Timothy. About the Elsie/Charles scene: I´m a teacher and a while ago I was chatting with a colleague and we talked about how we basically put up an act all day long. ´Today we´re going to do something really exciting: we´re going to learn a new letter!´ (Hold your breath, it´s the K!) ´Right now I´m very dissapointed in you!´ (no, I´m not, because I know you and I know you have behavioral issues) But all the same, you put on an act. You´re hardly ever *really* mad or dissapointed, which is a good thing or teaching would be the most enormous emotional roller-coaster ride.  
>In my head it doesn´t sound to far-fetched if Charles and Elsie, being some sort of parents teachers to the younger staff act in a similar way. Which inspired the following scene: _

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<br>**Healing touches**

´Only and always when you´re washing your hair,´ Elsie grumbled as she heard the knock on the door dividing the male´s quarters from the female quarters. Wrapping a towel around her still dripping hair she stepped from the bathroom into the narrow hallway. Through the tainted glass of the door she could just make out Charles´ silhouette.

´What is it?´ she called out, hoping her voice didn´t betray too much irritation.

´I´m sorry to disturb you, Elsie,´ Charles replied in somewhat hushed tones. ´But a few of the staff have been hiding away in the servant´s yard for quite some time now and I worry they are up to something. I think it would be wise if we both checked up on them.´

Elsie smiled softly to herself. Ever since the Mabel-incident and their fall-out over it, Charles had always been very careful in including her in any of his dealings with the staff that included members that were under her jurisdiction.

´Can you still hear them?´ she asked him.

´No!´ he replied, a little tersely. ´They´ve been awfully quiet for quite some time now.´

´Then they are up to something!´ she concluded practically. ´Do you need me to come straight away or do I have ten minutes to get dressed?´

´I daresay we can take the risk,´ he grumbled. Grinning she stepped into her bedroom and quickly put on her dress. Quickly braiding her still damp hair she stepped out to meet him within five minutes.

´I am so sorry,´ he apologized as he noticed the state of her hair. ´You were washing your hair.´

´Of course,´ she replied warily. ´The staff wouldn´t dream to disturb me at a moment that was actually convenient. Which members of staff are we dealing with?´

´O´Brien, Thomas, Daisy, William and young Rose,´ he listed.

´I should have known,´ she answered, rolling her eyes. Quietly they made their way to the servants´ yard and held back in the shadows to listen to the younger members of staff, trying to determine whether or not they needed to interfere.

´Sure this place is haunted!´ they heard Thomas say in a bored voice. ´There are tons of them, residing at the attic.´ For a brief moment Elsie wondered why the footman was sprouting such blatant nonsense, but then she got her answer as the young girls present shrieked in terror.

´What do you suppose those ghosts do?´ Rose asked, her voice quivering.

´Oh, they are after pure maidens,´ Thomas replied smugly. This resulted in another squeal, coming from Daisy and Rose.

´Well, I never came across one of them,´ O´Brien interjected.

´Like I said, they go after pure maidens,´ Thomas sneered.

´I knew there were eerie things haunting the halls at night,´ Daisy whispered frantically. ´Sometimes when I enter a room early in the morning, when everything is still dark… I can feel their presence!´

´Oh for goodness sake!´ Elsie muttered under her breath.

´I say we´d better put a stop to this,´ Charles said in a hushed tone, gaining his posture. ´I think a good telling off will ensure they won´t be coming here to talk nonsense for anytime soon.´

´I agree,´ Elsie nodded, rousing herself to full housekeeper-mode as well. Just before he was about to step forward she muttered under her breath. ´Sometimes I very much feel like the ward of a lunatic asylum.´

A barely supressed snort and a hand on her elbow stopped her from making her presence known. ´Elsie…´ he tried to sound affronted, but she could hear the smile in his voice. ´You are not helping me to appear stern.´

´I´m sorry,´ she replied demurely. After a pause of a few seconds she inquired: ´Have you recovered?´

´Yes I have,´ he answered, his voice perfectly under control again.

She couldn´t resist. ´Try to look formidable,´ she hissed just as he walked up to the small gathering with a forceful strike. Coming to stand beside him she tried to give her best impression of a stern matron as she thundered: ´Is there any particular reason you are all sitting here, or is it simply because it´s full moon?´

´It´s full moon?´ Daisy gasped, looking up at the sky.

´Really Miss O´Brien, I thought you had more sense than that!´ Elsie continued in a clipped voice. ´You´re scaring the younger maids to death. ´

´I was just here, having a smoke when they all loitered out here!´ O´Brien snapped back, angry at being told off in front of so many others. ´Last time I checked I was allowed a breath of fresh air!´

´William, really,´ Charles started. ´I thought you were more aware of the delicate female nature then to indulge in such talk!´

Incredulously Elsie glared at him, while he continued. ´You will please observe that under no circumstance members of staff are allowed to assemble after dark to participate in such immoral and foolish pastime as discussing the possibility of spiritual activity in such a dignified place as Downton. ´

Elsie often wondered if he wrote down impressive sayings like this in notebooks and practised them. In any case, his little speech served its purpose as William, Daisy and Rose hung their heads and meekly went inside.

´That goes for the two of you as well,´ she snapped at O´Brien and Thomas. Grudgingly they put out their cigarettes and walked to the entrance of the kitchen, as slowly as they dared.

´Well played, Mrs Hughes,´ Charles told her softly, the amusement obvious in his voice.

She gave him a hard look in reply. ´Well, this delicate female is going upstairs to rescue her hair!´ she told him exasperated.

He chuckled lightly. ´I was just trying to appeal to William´s chivalrous side,´ he told her, trying to placate her.

´I´m sure you were,´ she grumbled, wholly unconvinced.

´Getting you riled up with it as well is just a nice bonus.´ he said teasingly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards.

´Insufferable man!´ She huffed, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

He watched her walk away, his smile turning wistful. They worked so well together. He knew that without Elsie at his side, all these little troublesome dealings with the staff would be a burden. But with her it became… fun almost. She was his dearest, most trusted friend and he couldn´t imagine running Downton without her. And it was in moments like this that it became painfully, but adamantly clear to him that he couldn´t take the risk of doing anything that might damage that friendship and working relationship. Even despite how he might feel about her, despite his dreams and longing. He once again thought of the words that had been haunting him for days now_: trying to turn a relationship into something it wasn´t would destroy it._ And destroying his friendship with Elsie would certainly destroy him.

* * *

><p>´Are we clear yet?´ Timothy asked, rubbing his tired eyes. Consultation hour had practically turned into consultation afternoon as the waiting room had been absolutely packed with patients.<p>

´Just one left,´ Isobel replied, looking very much as if she was in some dire need of tea herself. ´I´ll show him in.´

He listened as there came some bustle and noise came from the hallway before a second later the door was opened with some considerable force and a dishevelled looking man staggered in. Immediately the room was filled with the penetrating stench of cheap whiskey.

´Sir, what is your name?´ Isobel said steadily.

´You… you posh people… think… think you can keep… keep me waiting… ´ the man slurred with difficulty. Then he turned on Isobel, his eyes blazing and his body shaking with rage. ´You bitch!´ he shouted. ´Thinking you´re so… so above me!´ he spat viciously to the ground, barely missing her shoes.

´You calm down this instant!´ Timothy roared, positioning himself between the man and Isobel. ´You´ll treat her with respect or you´ll be escorted out of the hospital!´

´I´ve waited all… all afternoon…´ the man grunted unintelligible. ´You think… a beggar like me… keep him waiting… it´s all her fault!´ He tried to lash out at Isobel again, but Timothy grabbed him forcefully.

´That´s enough!´ he stated decidedly. ´You´ll leave at once.´

´Like hell I won´t!´ the man yelled back. In the blink of an eye his hand had reached in the inside pocket of his coat and Isobel yelped in shock as she saw he was now holding a knife.

´Timothy!´ she cried warningly, but the next second the man had stabbed him. Timothy groaned in pain, his large frame doubling over, clutching his stomach.

In a flash Isobel stepped in front of him. ´Sir, put down the knife, please,´ she said as calmly as she could muster. ´You won´t resolve anything this way.´

Then she felt Wellington´s hand around her wrist, tugging her back. ´Isobel, get back!´ he howled. The deeply distressed man in front of them waved the knife around in an uncontrolled, shaky manner. Then he dropped to his knees and began to vomit, his body convulsing. He shuddered so much that he dropped the knife and with one swift movement of his foot, Wellington managed to kick the knife away.

The door of the main treatment room opened and revealed Richard Clarkson, a shocked expression on his face. ´What the devil is going on here?´ he exclaimed.

´This man is drunk and sick,´ Isobel explained hurriedly. He threatened me and stabbed Dr Wellington.´

´Good heavens!´ Richard rushed over to the other physician. ´Timothy! Are you alright?´

´I´ll live!´ Timothy managed to grunt out. But when he pulled his hand away a little, Isobel noticed that blood was beginning to soak his shirt.

´Take a look at that poor bastard!´ Timothy continued, indicating the man on the floor who was now panting. ´He looks like he´s throwing his liver out!´

He was throwing up blood now, great drops of sweat falling from his brow.

´Al right,´ Richard ordered quickly. ´Isobel, you take Timothy to the small treatment room and look after him, I´ll deal with this man.´

Isobel nodded in agreement and ignoring his protests, she placed her arm around Wellington´s waist, leading him away. She ignored him as they walked through the hallway and he claimed his injury was only minor, she ignored him when he tried to move away from her, insisting that he was able to care for the wound himself. But when she finally got him in the small treatment room she turned around and looked him square in the eye, gaining as much height as she could. ´Right,´ she started in a voice that booked no arguments. ´Take of that coat and shirt and lie down on the table.´  
>Without waiting for him to respond she began to push his white doctor´s coat down his shoulders.<p>

´I assure you this isn´t necessary,´ he started, attempting to push her away.

´You heard what Richard said and it´s not up for debate,´ she shot back. ´Either you get out of those clothes yourself or I´m going to wrestle you out of it. Your choice. And I´d hurry if I were you before the material of your shirt gets stuck to the wound.´

He surrendered grudgingly and started on the buttons of his shirt. Within a minute he had dispatched of his tie, collar, shirt and undershirt and was lying down on the treatment table, so that Isobel could assess the wound.

´It´s a nasty cut,´ she commented, pushing a sterile cloth firmly against it. He pushed himself up on his elbows to see for himself, but Isobel placed her hand flat against his chest and pushed him down.

´I am going to take care of this,´ she informed him calmly. ´You just lie down.´

More from the shock of feeling her hand against his bare chest than anything else he complied without protest. Suddenly he was very aware of how fast his heart was hammering within the confinement of his ribcage. Her hand slid down over his chest down to the sensitive skin of his stomach and he couldn´t help the small tremor that ran through his body at her touch.

She kept the cloth pressed securely against the wound until the bleeding stopped, while her warm hand rested on his abdomen. He tried to concentrate on his even breathing, but his skin burned where she touched him. Finally she pulled back the cloth and inspected the cut carefully. I´m afraid it will need stitching,´ she told him. ´Apart from the wound, does your stomach hurt in any other way?´

´No, I think it´s just a scratch,´ he replied, cringing as he heard how hoarse his voice had become.

´I´ll check your stomach just to make sure.´ she said. The next few minutes were pure torture as he tried not to squirm while her soft fingers gently probed him, searching for an indication of injured organs. ´It´s just a cut,´ she concluded eventually. ´Would you prefer some narcosis before I start?´

He shook his head vehemently, his ego ruffled. ´I´ve encountered more hardships then a bit of stitching,´ he grumbled. ´Just proceed.´

´Very well,´ she prepared her instruments at sat down next to the bed. For all his big words he tried not to cringe as the needle went through his skin. But soon he became aware of other sensations. The way here hands brushed against his stomach and sides as she worked on closing the wound. How soft and warm her hands were and how gentle her touch was. Despite the discomfort of the procedure he felt how his breath caught every time her hands came in contact with his bare skin. ´Pull yourself together man,´ he told himself sternly. ´This is Isobel Crawley of all people. And´s she´s stitching you up because some lunatic stabbed you. Get a grip!´

´Are you alright?´ Her voice was almost as soft as her hands, causing a swirl of emotions to rise in his chest.

´I suppose I am, why do you ask?´ he managed before his voice cracked.

´Your skin is all flushed,´ she explained. ´You might have a fever.´

She really didn´t have the slightest notion of the effect she was having on him, he realized. And why should she? He could scarcely believe what she was doing to him. ´I don´t think I´m running a fever,´ he answered, some irony in his voice. ´It´s probably just the adrenaline.´

´If you say so…´ she replied unsure. Checking the wound again she gave a satisfied smile. ´I can dress the wound now.` As he sat up so she could wrap the bandage around his waist he was seized with the most irrational impulse every time he felt her fingers graze against his sides or stomach to catch her hands and pull her close. She was standing so close he could smell the sweet fragrance, something like vanilla, coming from her hair making his head spin. When she had finally fastened the bandage and stepped back he was torn between relief and a strange, aching feeling of abandonment.

´Thank you,´ he said quietly.

´You´re welcome,´ she replied, smiling warmly. He had seen her smile on many occasions. She always seemed to have a smile ready for whatever patient or relative that crossed her path, but after their first meeting she had never smiled at him. He found that he was captivated by it, perhaps even more affected by it then by her touches.

She picked up his soiled shirt from the ground. ´I think it´s safe to say this one´s ruined,´ she said. ´If you want I can look in the supply cabinet, I believe we have some spare shirts there.´ When he didn´t make a reply she looked at him, surprised and a little unnerved to find him still staring at her.

When the door opened and Richard walked in, he tore his gaze away from her with difficulty.

´How are you?´ Richard asked, obviously ruffled, due to all the excitement in the normally so calm hospital.

´It was just a little cut, Iso- Nurse Crawley stitched it and I dare say I´ll be as good as new before long. How´s that man doing?´

´He´s currently sleeping of his stupor,´ Richard replied darkly. ´And after that he can fight of the effects of his alcohol poisoning. I´ve given him a private chamber so he won´t disturb any other patients and I´ve arranged for a guard at the door.´ He then turned his gaze at Timothy, looking at him quizzically. ´Are you sure you are alright? You look rather shaken.´

Feeling rather shaken, he nodded indecisively. ´I think I´m going for a short walk… The fresh air would do me good.´ When Isobel left to fetch him a shirt he took in the first deep breath since he had been inside the small treatment room. Richard still eyed him curiously.

´I´m sorry I pushed Mrs Crawley at you,´ Richard said eventually. ´But I didn´t want to leave her with that drunkard.´

´Of course not!´ Timothy replied quick and convinced. ´She…´ he paused as the memory flooded back to him. ´She stepped in front of me after I got stabbed.´

´Did she now?´ Richard asked lightly, but with raised eyebrows.

´She did,´ Timothy confirmed, taking another deep breath. ´Foolish woman.´

Half an hour later, as he strode across a deserted lane surrounding the grounds of Downton village he tried to make sense of his very conflicting feelings for Isobel Crawley. And failed miserably at it.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you had as much fun reading this last scene than I had writing it. Poor Timothy... *snicker* I´d like to hear what you think!<strong>


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11  
><strong>Tipping the scale<strong>

A week after the stabbing incident at the hospital Timothy still wasn´t any closer to resolving his contradictory feelings regarding Isobel. The wound on his stomach was healing nicely and would probably only leave a faint scar, courtesy to her excellent stitching skills. He tried to keep his distance from her as much as possible, even going is far as trying to organize the rotation in such away he worked as few shifts with her as possible, reasoning that putting some distance between them would soon put an end to this ridiculous, unsuitable attraction he was suddenly experiencing. He tried to convince himself it was just something physical, thinking that perhaps his anger with her had initiated another form of passion.

But deep down he knew this wasn´t true. It wasn´t only physical. This attraction had been shimmering beneath the surface for a long time and had only increased as he had laid on that treatment table, subjected to her touch. The attraction had been there from the first moment he´d met her and had grown over the weeks as their compatibility became more and more obvious. Now that he had arranged not to work with her anymore, he found himself paired up regularly with the new nurse, Miss Eileen Hobbs. The contrast between the way Isobel seemed to read his mind and anticipated on his movements and the way nurse Hobbs seemed deliberately obtuse in following even the most simple instructions couldn´t have been greater.

He found himself caught between a rock and a hard place, attracted to a woman he´d been loathing for almost thirty years. He tried to forgive her for what she had done, but even if he could he knew he would never be able to trust her completely. Not in a way he needed to trust the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to be his wife. These two vastly conflicting emotions, his attraction to her and his anger with her occupied his mind for days until he received some news that irrevocably tipped the scale.

His lawyer had phoned the hospital to inform him about the developments at London Hospital regarding his dismissal and by the time he had put the receiver back he was seething with anger. When he stormed out of the office Isobel Crawley happened to be the first person to come across him. Even though she was slightly taken aback by the way his eyes appeared to be shooting daggers, she stopped him in the hallway, her hand on his arm.

'Dr Wellington, is anything the matter?'

He pulled back sharply as if her touch had stung him. 'Why?' he demanded, his voice low with hatred. 'Why is personal gain so important to you people?'

'What?' she exclaimed, her own anger rousing now. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Just…' He could feel his control slipping and fought to keep up some of his restraint, realizing fully that whatever charm she had that beguiled him didn't measure up to the intense contempt he felt for her actions.

'Leave me alone!' he snapped. 'Just… leave me alone!'

He strode away, his hands clenching in tight fists at his sides, leaving Isobel behind, looking completely bewildered.

* * *

><p>He spend the afternoon at his office, attempting to work on some status reports and trying to come to terms with the news he received. Late afternoon Richard stopped by, the look on his face conveying that he had already hears some of the news.<p>

'I gather you've heard from London?' he asked quietly, closing the door behind him.

Timothy nodded, leaning back in his chair. 'I have,' he replied bitterly. 'My dismissal will not be revoked. The board of trustees voted unanimously against it.'

'They'd rather have a thief among their board?' Richard asked incredulously.

Timothy nodded, his shoulders slumping. 'Of course in this case the thief is the honourable Sir Archibald Whiterstone, so the rules that apply to mere mortals don't apply to him.'

'I still believe you did the right thing by exposing his mismanaged of hospital funding,' Richard countered. 'If the board decide that they still want to keep him on it's their foolish choice, but at least you acted with integrity.'

'Yes and a whole lot of good it did me!' Timothy answered sarcastically. 'I shouldn't be surprised though… I learned the hard way thirty years ago that money and status only brings out the worst in people.'

'Will you remain here at Downton?' Richard asked after a few moments of silence. 'You are more than welcome to stay.'

'Thank you,' Timothy replied quietly after some thought. 'I truly appreciate everything you have done for me, Richard, but I think it will be wiser if started to look out for another position.'

When Richard didn't make a comment, but just looked imploringly, he explained: 'I think me working in such close proximity to Isobel Crawley is a rather bad idea.'

'Timothy…' Richard started carefully after a moment of hesitation. 'I have no reason whatsoever do doubt the story you've told me and please believe me when I say that I don't, but… knowing Isobel Crawley the way I do… I find it hard to believe that she could have acted in such a selfish manner.'

'Well, she did!' Timothy spat, his anger quickly resurfacing again. After a few moments he calmed down again and continued in a more collected voice: 'I know it's difficult to believe… I will agree to thinking that she has probably changed a lot over time… But the fact remains, it was Isobel Crawley who singlehandedly destroyed any means of funding the clinic in Manchester thirty years ago.'

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure why, but lately Richard found that he wasn't avoiding the postal office as much as he had used to do. Now when he passed it on the way back from a patient it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to walk in and see if there was any mail.<p>

'Good morning Dr Clarkson.'

Good morning Miss Thornton.'

There were things he would never get used to however. One of them was the sight of Maureen Thornton standing behind the counter wearing a cream blouse that contrasted nicely with her pink skin, the dazzling smile that had drawn him in long before he had found the courage to ask her for that first dance and her heavy black hair in a low bun, with obstinate strands that had managed to get away framing her face. Once it had been the most normal thing for him to reach out and tuck those strands behind her ear, but now he folded his leather gloved' hands on the counter and asked politely: 'Is there any mail for the hospital?'

'There is,' she replied, pulling out various items of mail from a shelf neatly labelled _Downton Hospital._ He took them from her and opened his mouth to say his goodbyes when she turned around again. 'There's a letter for you as well. And for Dr Wellington, would you be kind enough to give it to him?'

'Anything to be of service to a lady,' he replied lightly, feeling ridiculously satisfied that he still possessed the ability to make her blush. Taking the letters from her, he recognized the handwriting on the envelope instantly. 'My sister!' he commented grinning. 'No doubt she'll have a lot to tell about their newest addition.'

'Isabella had another baby?' Maureen asked surprised.

'She had a baby girl a fortnight ago,' Richard told her. 'I went to see them last week. 'They are both doing very well.'

'That's their third child then, isn't it?'

'Their fifth, actually.' Richard chuckled as her eyes widened in surprise. 'A boy, two girls, another boy and now a baby girl.'

'Goodness…' Maureen answered, 'and how old is Jim now?'

'He'll be twelve next month,' Richard answered. 'He'll be starting grammar school soon.'

'That's wonderful,' Maureen smiled. She remembered the boy from all those years ago, although he had only been a toddler then. 'Amazing how quick the time passes, isn't it?'

Richard nodded somewhat distractedly. The mention of Jim had roused a memory of Christmas ten years ago, Maureen fussing over the baby, causing him to fall in love with her even more. His proposal and the disastrous aftermath in the months that followed. Very eager to change the subject he said the first thing that came to his mind.

'Wellington is receiving a lot of these, isn't he?' he asked, indicating the brown envelope.

'It's turning into quite the epidemic,' Maureen replied before thinking. Blushing furiously she clasped her hand over her mouth. 'I'm sorry… postal secrecy. I shouldn't have blurted that out.'

He grinned, the way she took her job very seriously had always been very endearing to him. 'Don't worry, I won't press you for details,' he reassured her.

'However…' he leaned in a little, looking rather conspiringly. 'I've heard through grapevine some interesting facts about this epidemic. Perhaps we should keep an eye on it.'

'Perhaps we should,' she laughed.

* * *

><p>The box had been staring at her from the top of her wardrobe ever since she had moved into the Crawley House and Isobel decided that this afternoon was as good as any to finally sort through it. Not wanting to bother Molesely with it, she climbed on a chair herself and tried to lift the box down. Unfortunately it was a lot heavier then she´d expected it to be and swaying dangerously she barely managed to hold on to it as she tried to keep her balance and get on the floor in one piece. As a result of her antics the lid of the box and some of the content fell on the floor. Finally managing to place to box on her bed she bend down to pick up the various fallen items.<p>

It was then that she found the small, brownish photograph, showing two girls, dressed in their Sunday´s finest, seriously staring up at her. Unexpectedly a soft noise left her throat, something between a gasp and a sob. And with slightly trembling hands she sank down on the edge of her bed, still gazing at the picture intently. The girls were holding hands and as she looked the memories came flooding back to her.

She remembered the photo being taken. She remembered how scared she had been of the strange man with his bushy beard and moustache and his strange equipment. How she had feared the camera, being convinced it would somehow hurt her. How her sister had held her hand tightly, being just as afraid herself, but determined to be brave for her sake.

_Imogene…_ tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered. Her only sister, six years older than herself. And in her eyes for so long the most remarkable, inspiring person in the world. As a child Isobel had hero-worshipped her beautiful sister who had taken in everyone around her easily with her vivacious nature and engaging manners. And back then Isobel hadn´t minded, she had been as taken with Imogen as everyone else was.

It wasn´t until they got older that it had begun to change. Girls tended to change a lot when they turn into young women and in their case, the changes weren´t for the best. Their interests became very different. Isobel was the studious one, eager to learn and to excel at school. Science and medicine had always been her fascination and as such she grew closer to her father who was a doctor.

Imogene became the belle of Manchester and their mother rejoiced in it. Imogene was her pride and joy and as they got older, the more Isobel´s world filled with books and lessons, the more Imogen´s filled with balls and social events. Initially Isobel did not really envy Imogene, for she never wanted to enter her world. She gained good friends through school and her father's circle of acquaintances and she was content. Although she grudgingly had to admit that sometimes it stung a little to be always compared to her beautiful, dazzling sister.

But by the time Isobel had turned twenty their childhood closeness had disappeared and Isobel hardly recognized the elegant woman that was her sister. Imogene strived to become well established in society and with the aid of their mother this became the sole purpose of the family, such that even Dr Crawley became entangled in it.

From that moment on Isobel began to notice things about her sister that unsettled her deeply. She realized Imogene´s ambition to marry well and get accepted in the high circles of society were rather ruthless. She broke the hearts of devoted suitors as easily as another person would discard a rag if she believed she could make a better match.

Isobel tried to tell her so – on many occasions. But by then the only similarity between the sisters was their quick temper. It led to one nasty argument after another, until they barely could stand to be in the same room anymore.

The more the sisters grew apart, the more Isobel began to resent the way they lived. She didn't want to spend afternoon after afternoon sitting in a parlour, dressed up like a doll, smiling sweetly at rich men who were looking for an ornamental wife. She wished to be useful, to do something with her life that would serve a purpose. And looking back she recognize she longed for a form of appreciation that even if she wasn't the most beautiful or captivating woman of the house, she was of value.

Eventually Isobel married one of her sisters' rejected suitors, a man she had admired and loved for a long time. Because of it all contact with Imogene was ended. A year later she married an aristocrat, all her dreams come true.

Five years ago, Imogene had suddenly died. And as much as they had become estranged, as much as Isobel had suffered from living in her shadow for all those years, as much as she despised Imogene for what she had done to Reginald, Isobel mourned the loss of the childhood friend Imogene had been.

Isobel knew that in a way, growing up with Imogene as a sister had shaped her in who she was now. She simply could not abide to being idle. She must have something useful to do, as opposed to living a shallow life of leisure. And no matter how hard she tried to reason it, she knew she still craved that appreciation, that assurance that her presence mattered, that she wasn´t the redundant one. After years of living an active life as a doctor´s wife, the transition from Manchester to Downton and the change of social circles had been a hard one. And if it hadn´t been for Matthew, Elsie or the hospital, she would have returned to Manchester the first opportunity she got.

_´I won´t let them change me, mother!´_ her son had stated adamantly when they had first arrived in Downton. She had rebuked him gently, because she had known that life here _would_ change him, would change her. They had to, somehow, manage to find a way to fit in. And to some extent they had even succeeded somehow. Matthew had his job and she had hers. They were on civil terms with the family and as time went by Isobel began to notice, somewhat to her amusement that Robert seemed to be rather taken with Matthew.

But sometimes she wished she could get away from it all. Wished she was back at her field hospital in South Africa. Wished she could surround herself with people around who she could be herself, as opposed to the society figure she had never been. Wished she could just be herself.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Confession: I have a thing for backstories. I´m always wondering why a character is behaving in the way that he or she does. In other fics I had a lot of fun writing about Bates´ history, trying to explain why he was the man he was at the start of season 1._  
><em>As season 2 progressed I started to wonder about Isobel. The way she almost obsessively tried to do something useful and strived to be appreciated for it, got me thinking. So that is how the story of Imogene and the rivalry between them grew. <em>

**As always, I´d like to hear what you think!**


	13. Chapter 12

_A/N: Sufficient to say, this chapter started with a mental image…_

Chapter 12  
><strong>Sight-seeing <strong>

'Well, that appears to be the last of them,' Isobel commented with a relieved sigh, placing the final status report on the stack.

'Thank heavens,' Richard agreed. 'We should look into getting a secretary to do the paperwork, with the amount we're having at the moment.'

'You could bring it up at the next board meeting,' Isobel suggested.

Richard nodded in agreement while pulling his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. 'Half past five… I might just manage to have my supper.'

'Are you planning on going out?' Isobel asked interested.

'The Fire Brigade is having a drill,' he replied. At her blank expression he clarified: 'I'm the commander of Downton Fire Brigade. And I'm happy to say I've managed to rally some new members.'

'Really?' Isobel was curious to find out.

'After twenty years of nagging Charles Carson finally agreed to join. Thankfully Dr Wellington was a bit easier to convince.'

'I didn't even know Downton had a Fire Brigade!' Isobel remarked, surprised.

'Well, it's been neglected for the past years,' Richard admitted. 'But I am determined to get it up and going again. I don't want to have to depend on Rippon whenever something happens. We do have the equipment after all.'

'So what will you be doing tonight?' Isobel inquired, getting more interested with every passing second.

'Get the engine out to see if it still works, practise the drill of getting the hoses out most efficiently, do a little exercise perhaps. And of course trying to see if the uniforms still fit.' This last bit was said with a slight roll of his eyes.

'Uniforms!' Isobel exclaimed, her voice acquiring a bit of a high pitch. 'How very interesting.' A glint appeared in her eyes and a plan started to form inside her head.

* * *

><p>'Then why did you let him talk you into it?' Elsie asked incredulous as a very reluctant Charles shrugged into his coat.<p>

'Timothy agreed rather quickly and I didn't want to look like a wimp,' he muttered lowly. 'Of course it's going to be absolute murder. You know how Richard can get in situations like this… at the rate he's going, trying to ensure the community is thriving as well as can be, he'll be major one day.'

Elsie listened to his grumbling, trying to bite back the grin that threatened to spill.

'And then Moseley will be there for certain, eager as a lad on his birthday, full of completely impractical suggestions… which will take half an hour at least to explain why they are impractical…'

'Mr Moseley means well, I'm sure,' Elsie tried to placate him. 'He is just trying to contribute.'

'I only hope Richard hasn't been foolish enough to ask Eugene Hale to join,' Charles continued imperturbable.

Elsie snorted at that. 'Last time I saw him at the bakery I thought he wasn't in the best physical condition, so I very much doubt that.' Stepping closer to him she adjusted his tie and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. 'I'm sure you'll do fine. Being a fire man is a rather respectable, you know.'

His eyebrows moved up slightly, the look he gave her conveying his doubt.

'Of you go,' she told him resolutely. 'Give my regards to Richard.'

She watched him for a while as he walked away, a thoughtful smile around her lips, before she turned around and went back inside.

* * *

><p>Isobel was up to something. Elsie knew this for certain as her friend was walking just a tad too purposely for a simple evening stroll. Half way in the village they had met Maureen Thornton and Isobel had enthusiastically invited her to join them. Thinking that Maureen must have had her fill from walking around the village all the live long day now that her assistant had taken ill, Elsie was surprised when the postal mistress happily accepted the invitation. And so the three women walked side by side, chatting easily about various subjects, subtly led by Isobel to some unknown destination.<p>

'Isobel, where are we going?' Elsie asked eventually, the curiosity getting the better of her.

'Nowhere in particular,' Isobel answered lightly. 'Turn left here.'

'Nowhere in particular, my eye!' Elsie muttered under her breath. As the village hall doomed in front of them a suspicion began to form in her mind. Soon they heard voiced coming from behind the building.

'That's it! Roll out the hoses! Faster! Time is of essence here!'

'What do you suppose is going on there?' Maureen asked bewildered as she began to recognize the voice.

'They're having a fire brigade drill!' Isobel announced happily. 'How about we take a quick peek?'

'You're seriously suggesting we should spy on them?' Elsie asked, torn between amusement and hesitation.

'Oh, not spy on them, they will know we're there,' Isobel replied in a tone as if that made her suggestion so much more sensible.

'Mr Carson is going to skin me,' Elsie muttered softly. 'He didn't want to be here in the first place.

'Oh, come on, don't you want to see it?' Isobel pressed on, her eyes twinkling rather madly.

'I don't know…' Elsie bit lip thoughtfully, a grin already spreading over her face. If truth be told, she very much wanted to. 'What about you?' she eventually asked Maureen.

Maureen looked as if she was very much torn between what she wanted and what she dared to do. At that precise moment Dr Clarkson's loud cry could be heard.

'No! Mr Moseley! Do not turn the water on just yet! Oh blast…' The sound of water spluttering down quite forcefully and the shocked cries of a few of the men was all they needed to make up their mind.

Practically running around the village hall they arrived at a large open area, partly tiled and partly covered with grass. A large, shining red fire engine was parked on the tiles, a dozen men around them, a number of them absolutely dripping wet. One of them was Charles.

Moseley stood there at the water tap looking as if he couldn't for the world understand how the events of the past few seconds had transpired.

'Good evening!' Isobel cried merrily. The look on Dr Clarkson's face could easily be described as murderous and it only softened somewhat when he noticed that Maureen Thornton was part of the party as well.

'Ladies,' he said tersely. 'What brings you here?'

'We were just having a stroll in the neighbourhood,' Isobel answered, completely ignoring his ruffled manner.

'Really?' he inquired, his eyebrows raised. He pulled her a little to the side and continue to stare sternly at her. 'After I told you about the drill this afternoon, you just _happen _to walk by tonight?'

Isobel was spared the trouble of coming up with a reply that would pacify him somewhat when from the corner of his eye, Dr Clarkson noticed that Moseley was moving.

'Excuse me,' he said hastily. 'I must go before Mr Moseley wrecks something else!'

Looking around, Isobel concluded that their coming here was well worth even Dr Clarkson's agitation. Elsie had wandered off to her butler, presumably trying to raise his spirits somewhat and prevent his untimely death from pneumonia.

On her other hand, Maureen was looking rather dazed at Dr Clarkson and Isobel couldn't help but grin to herself. As the commander of the fire brigade, he certainly wore a fine uniform. And uniforms could be rather powerful thing if worn by the right man.

Looking around her she watched the antics of the men for a while until all of a sudden her breath caught in her throat and she very much felt as if the rug had been pulled from underneath her. After blinking furiously she took a second look at the man that had so suddenly captured her attention.

She hadn't noticed Dr Wellington at all when she had first arrived. She had been aware of his presence, but she had decided to conveniently suppress that bit of knowledge. After their unpleasant encounter in the hallway of the hospital a week ago she had barely spoken to him. But now that she saw him standing there in his dark blue uniform she couldn't deny that her heart was doing backflips and that the ground underneath her appeared to be wobbling considerably. That or her knees were giving out.

He looked even taller than he already did normally and the large belt he wore around his waist made his shoulders seem even broader. Her stomach fluttered when she realized all of a sudden that she knew exactly what kind of fine body he was hiding underneath that devastatingly handsome uniform and she felt her cheeks go scarlet.

'_Really, Isobel, control yourself. He behaves like an ogre to you_,' she chided herself.

'_But an ogre who can pull off that uniform rather marvellously'_, a tiny voice told her cheerfully.

Her mouth went dry as she watched how he walked with an easy thread over to where Charles and Elsie were standing. Shaking her head, which was swimming with images all of a sudden, she decided that coming here this evening was a very foolish idea after all.

* * *

><p>´Have you warmed up somewhat?´ Elsie asked him worriedly, pouring him another mug of steaming tea.<p>

´I am absolutely going to kill Richard,´ Charles grumbled his mood beyond terse. ´After I´m done with that fool of a Moseley!´

´Really Charles, no one wanted for this to happen,´ Elsie admonished him gently.

´I thought it was a very stupid idea to begin with.´

_Really_, Elsie thought, _how could a grown man be so childish while resembling a big, grumbling bear?_

´I´m sure it wasn´t all bad?´ she tried again.

Suddenly he smirked a little. ´No, you´re right. Sitting in the back with Wellington, being sarcastic made it easier to bear.´

Sitting down across from him, Elsie frowned pensively. ´Charles…´ she began after some thought. ´What do you make of Wellington´s dislike of Isobel?´

´I can´t make anything of it,´ he admitted. ´He´s very reticent when it comes to that. But I thought they managed to co-exist together while trying to avoid each other as much as possible?´

´That´s hardly the point!´ she replied somewhat impatiently. ´Isobel doesn't have a clue what she had done to him that merits his behaviour. Doesn't she have a right to at least know why he is loathing her so much?´

´I suppose you're right,´ he relented. ´Does it bother her that he treats her so?´

´It does,´ Elsie nodded. ´If he didn´t behave so horrendously to her I believe they would get along fabulously. I can imagine it´s very frustrating for her not even to understand the reason for his dislike. But why do you ask?´

´Nothing… I just…´ Charles hesitated a moment before continuing. ´Sometimes I wonder if there isn´t more to his dislike then meets the eye… Sometimes I even wonder if he dislikes her at all.´ As if he feared he was speaking absolute nonsense he gave an embarrassed shrug. ´But I could be very off.´

´We´ll see,´ Elsie replied resignedly. ´I just hope he´ll enlighten her soon.´

* * *

><p><strong>Good, bad, getting too far-stretched, pacing too fast or too slow... please let me know what you think!<strong>


	14. Chapter 13

_A/N: Because we all knew this eventually was going to happen… _

Chapter 13  
><strong>The little of them she had<br>**_June 1913_

As was their regular custom they met at the end of the day in his pantry to share a small glass of wine and discuss the events of the day. Such was her own state of confusion over the letter she´d received from Harold earlier that afternoon that it took Elsie a while to notice that Charles appeared rather distracted as well.

´Are you alright, Charles?´ she asked carefully, eyeing him closely.

He roused out of his musings and looked at her apologetically. ´I´m sorry, Elsie, I´m fine… I´m just… well actually there is… I´ve been meaning to tell you…´ slowly but surely he became bright red and eventually closed his mouth.

´Really Charles,´ she laughed softly, a little startled by his flustered behaviour. ´Whatever it is, just say it. It can´t be that bad, can it?´

´No… no… it isn´t,´ he replied hastily. ´In fact I believe it can considered to be good news… all in all…´

Now she was burning with curiosity. Setting down her wineglass she looked at him intently, almost ready two wring the words out of him. ´Let´s have it then!´

´Well…´ she noticed he was looking everywhere except directly at her. ´A while ago I became acquainted with a lady. I… she…´ he was really having the hardest time forming the words. ´We have both enjoyed this contact a lot… that is to say, I have and I presume she enjoys it to… at any rate… I believe that this person could become… very dear to my person…´ He finally looked at her, his eyes almost begging her to help him out.

But she was too busy coming to terms with what he´d just told her to be of any help. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of the words. ´Charles… do you mean to say… are you saying that you are courting this woman?´ she eventually asked very tentatively.

He seemed relieved to get any reaction at all from her and he nodded seriously. ´Not yet, and it´s too early to presume that I ever will. But I hope to meet her soon. And who knows what will become of it…´ he faltered, a rather torn expression on his face.

´How… how did you became acquainted with her?´ Elsie managed to ask, hearing how hallow her voice sounded all of a sudden.

´I met her while ago… ´ he answered somewhat vaguely. ´I do not know her very well yet, but I´ve grown fond of her… very fond. For some time now I consider her to be a close friend.´

´That´s wonderful,´ the effort to smile actually hurt her face. She stared at the man sitting in front of him as if she saw him for the first time. She knew him better than perhaps anyone else. She knew the lines in his face, she knew every single one of his smiles. She knew that his eyes were in fact a dark blue, but that you´d have to look close to see it. She knew from the way his lips moved in what mood he was, she had thought she knew every little thing about him. Thought that perhaps she knew him even better then he knew himself. And from that knowledge a sense of belonging had evolved. Because she knew him so well, he belonged to her, as she belonged to him. But now she could feel him moving away from her. There was this whole part of him that would never be hers. The suitor, the lover, the husband. It all belonged to this mysterious woman he had suddenly sprung on her.  
>Her head started to pound and she felt a monstrous headache coming up, but his voice cut through her thoughts.<p>

´Do you think I´m a great fool for wanting to do this?´ he asked hesitantly, embarrassment clearly written over his face.

´No…´ she shook her head, trying to keep her voice under control as she continued ardently: ´Of course you´re not. If you really care for her then… ´ her voice choked up, despite her best efforts and she could feel the tears starting to burn behind her eyes. ´You´re not a fool, Charles. Never.´

Now he looked rather imploringly at her. ´Are you alright, Elsie?´

´Of course I am,´ she nodded vigorously, throwing in a little laugh for good measure. ´I have a bit of a headache. I think I´ll just retire early.´

´Of course!´ Immediately all concern and worry he got to his feet and extended his hand to help her up. ´Can I get you anything to ease the pain – an aspirin perhaps?´

´No, thank you,´ she replied quietly. ´A good night´s sleep is probably all I need.´ She met his gaze and bit her lip. ´Charles… I hope you have a good time meeting this friend… She´s very lucky to have you call her that…´

When he gave her softest of smiles in return, she felt the loss of him even more pointedly. With tears now threatening to spill over, she turned away and slipped out of his pantry.

* * *

><p>She didn´t sleep a wink that night and after two ´o clock in the morning she simply gave up trying. She got out of bed and pulled the curtains of the small window back. Putting a pair of socks on her chilled feet, she bundled up in her dressing gown she sat against the headboard of her bed, arms wrapped around her raised knees, staring out of the window into the night. What she wondered about the most was the question where he had ever met this woman and how he had managed to get so close to her as to contemplate pursuing her. He was always at Downton, except for the months he spend in London during the Season… she groaned out loud and closed her eyes.<p>

Of course! He had met her in London last year during the Season. This year his Lordship had asked him to remain behind and look after a few matters, mostly related to the arrival of Mr Crawley. She´d assumed that he hadn´t mind, that he´d rather be at Downton than at the Grantham House. But she had noticed during the last few weeks that his behaviour had been a little odd. He kept to himself a lot, even for his private character. She had often caught him staring in the distance as if something was weighing on his mind.

Was he in love with her? Would he pursue her? He had appeared hesitant, but not unwilling. Would he leave service when he chose to marry this woman? She couldn´t bear the thought. Who would ever fill his shoes? How was she ever going to get used to working here without him? No, she decided there in the darkness of her room. Whatever happened, if he would only stay she would remain somewhat content.

Then she realized that if he stayed after his marriage it would mean his wife would come to Downton as well. And instead of turning to her when something bothered him, he would go to his wife. They would revert to ´Mr Carson´ and ´Mrs Hughes´ and that would be the end of it. She would be forced to watch as he loved this woman and build a life with her. She had cried a little upon entering her room, more out of shock at the news than anything else, but now the tears started to roll down over her cheeks and she wasn´t able to restrain them. When the first sob escaped from her throat the dam broke and soon she was sobbing into her knees, crying her heart out.

A small part of herself remained dispatched from it all, as if she was watching herself from above, wondering incredulously what had gotten into her. She had always known Charles didn´t return her feelings. She had attempted for years to mould those feelings back to an acceptable state of friendship. He was her best friend. They made an unbeatable team. And even if sometimes when she laid in bed and thought of him she still wished that she was so much more to him, she had come to grown content, even pleased with the life she was leading now. Not even most married couples could boast on the closeness she and Charles shared. All in all, she thought she couldn´t complain. Until now. Until she was faced with losing that little of ´them´ that there was.

* * *

><p>After a sleepless night the morning dragged on like a log. She had a furious argument with Mrs Patmore about – what else – the key to the storage cabinet, Rose broke a rather valuable antique vase and cried about it all morning, hardly getting any work done. Every time she came across Thomas he seemed to be on a ´cigarette break´ until she finally snapped and asked him if it was in fact his day off and she had to deal with one of the village´ merchants completely mucking up a simple order for cleaning supplies.<p>

When afternoon came she excused herself and went to the village to order supplies again at the store. On her way back she passed the Crawley House and as it came in sight she lowered her pace, contemplating whether or not it would be very inappropriate to call on Isobel in the middle of the afternoon. Just at that moment Isobel turned the corner across the street, smiling broadly as she got sight of her friend.

´I don´t suppose you have the time to come in for a cup of tea?´ she asked regretfully as they met in front of Crawley House.

´Well, actually…´ Elsie replied, hesitating if she could be missed for another hour.

´Are you alright?´ Isobel asked, a hint of worry on her face. ´You look a little run down if you don´t mind me saying so.´

Feeling suddenly very anxious to talk this over with another woman, a friend she trusted and who could shed some sensible light on the events, Elsie found herself shaking her head. ´If you got a minute… there´s something I need to tell you.´

´I´ve got more than a minute,´ Isobel replied decidedly. Taking her by the arm, she led Elsie inside. A little while later they were seated in the parlour. After Moseley had served their tea and had disappeared, Isobel looked questioningly to the nervous woman sitting across from her on the settee. ´What´s going on?´ she asked softly.

´It´s silly really…´ Elsie began, feeling very embarrassed. ´Yesterday evening Cha- Mr Carson… Charles and I were drinking tea in his pantry and he told me that he has met someone… a woman… who he is planning to court.´ Much to her mortification a fresh wave of tears overtook her the moment the words left her mouth.

´Oh Elsie…´ in an instant Isobel had crossed the room and sat down next to her on the sofa, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. ´I´m so sorry… how devastated you must be.´

´It´s so foolish…´ Elsie finally managed to hiccup, gratefully accepting the offered handkerchief. ´There´s nothing between us that surpasses friendship… he´s not obliged to me in any way, but…´

´You wished it was different?´ Isobel ventured carefully.

Elsie nodded quietly, her face a picture of sadness. ´I can´t imagine Charles with someone else…´ After a few silent moments in which she wiped her face and regained some of control, Elsie looked sideways. ´How did you know?´

Isobel smiled a little guilty. ´I wasn´t sure, but I had my suspicions. I thought to hear your preference when you talked about him, or rather how you talk about him. And a while ago, when you were describing your ideal man, I realized later that Mr Carson fitted that description to the letter.´

´Not much gets past you, does it?´ Elsie asked, a small smile appearing on her face. ´But you´re right… I was thinking about him when I said that. Unfortunately the feeling isn´t mutual.´

Deciding to let that last remark pass for the time being, Isobel focused on something else. ´Do you know where he met this woman and how far their understanding has progressed?´

´Charles was rather vague about it,´ Elsie replied thoughtfully. ´I suppose they met in London during the Season last year. They are not courting yet, but he says he intends to.´

´Well then, perhaps it will all lead to nothing,´ Isobel reasoned. ´They are not an established couple yet, perhaps she doesn´t return his feelings.´

Elsie shook her head doubtfully. ´But this is Charles Carson… him saying that he intends to court her is as good as a marriage proposal. He´s the most private, cautious person I know, he would never tell me about it if he didn´t feel confident it would all lead somewhere.´

´Have you always felt this way about Mr Carson?´ Isobel asked tentatively.

Elsie laughed and shook her head, relaxing against the sofa. ´Goodness no! When I first met him I thought he was a pompous stuck-in-the-mud. He was already butler when I came to Downton as head housemaid. I respected him and I thought he ran a tight staff, but for Pete´s sake… he was so stiff and bend on the rules.

´I wasn´t even thirty when I came to Downton and although I took my job seriously and I worked hard, I also wanted to have some fun. One night…´ Elsie giggled as she remembered it. ´There was a fancy fair in Rippon with a dance afterwards on Saturday night. Me, some of the maids and the two footmen were allowed to attend. But when we were there we had such a good time that we lost track of time and missed the stagecoach. Once we discovered we missed it, we decided we might as well enjoy the dance a little longer.´

´How did you get home?´ Isobel asked, grinning.

´We walked!´ Elsie snorted. ´We left around midnight and we were home around four o´clock in the morning. You can well imagine how sore my feet were after dancing all night in my fancy shoes.´

´Did Mr Carson ever find out?´ Isobel asked, enjoying the story very much.

´I don´t think he did,´ Elsie replied, ´we sneaked back in the house. I had to climb the tree near the drawing room to get to the top so I could smuggle into her Ladyship´s dressing room before rushing downstairs to open to servant´s entrance to the others.´

With a bit of a wry smile she added: ´The things I could do when I was young!´

´But then your opinion of him changed?´ Isobel asked.

Elsie nodded, her gaze turning softer. ´I think it started when I became housekeeper and I got to know him better. Night long outings to Rippon were then out of the question of course, but I found that I enjoyed my friendship with Charles a lot. He became easier, less unbendable. He has a wonderful sense of humour and he is fiercely loyal. It´s one of the things I love the most about him. If he has opened his heart to you he will go to hell and back for you. I know that he isn´t in love with me, but I do know that he cares for me a great deal. He has always supported me. We can have a heated argument about something silly and then five minutes later he is telling a couple of housemaids off for talking behind my back.

After two years or so after I´d become housekeeper and I had gotten to know him better I noticed he often appeared a little lonely and I thought it would be nice for him if he were to meet someone. I even went as far as to look around in the village for someone who could make him happy. I even found someone I thought he would get along with well. But as I was trying to think of a scheme to get the two of them to meet, I realized all of a sudden that I couldn´t stomach the idea of him with someone else. That I rather would like to have a chance to make him happy myself.´ Elsie´s smile turned regretful. ´I never introduced him to that woman.´

´But you never told him either?´ Isobel asked sadly.

Elsie shook her head. ´He never gave me any indication that he might feel the same way. And things would have been so awkward between us if he had rejected me, so I never took the risk.

And for the last couple of years I´ve just assumed we would both remained at Downton as butler and housekeeper until we dropped dead. And I could have lived with that.´

Isobel chuckled at the last comment, but quickly became serious. ´Elsie, you´re not going to ´drop dead´ as you put it for quite a long time. Why shouldn´t you have a love interest?´

Elsie smiled wryly. ´Well, that´s the other thing I should tell you… I told you about the gentleman I´ve been writing to of late?´

´Yes,´ Isobel replied, puzzled by this sudden change of subject.

´Well, he has written me again yesterday and he has asked to meet me.´

´Really?´ Isobel exclaimed, he eyes turning the size of saucers. ´And will you?´

´I don´t know…´ Elsie answered, wringing her hands fretfully. ´It all seems a bit sudden and what if I don´t like him at all, of if he doesn´t like me?´

Impossible,´ Isobel declared. ´But aren´t you curious to find how what he´s like?´

´I am,´ Elsie replied, ´but it wouldn´t be right either way.´

´Why ever not?´ Isobel asked, bewildered. ´I thought that was the whole point of your correspondence.´

´Well, for one thing I am not certain about his intentions.' Elsie blushed and searched for the right words. ´What if he wants to turn this friendship into something more?´

´How would you feel about that?´ Isobel was beginning to feel how complicated her friends´ life had become of late.

´I like him a lot,´ Elsie confessed. ´More than I ever thought I would. He´s kind and honest and in a way I think he would suit me perfectly, but… ´

´But what?´ Isobel pressed gently.

´Isn´t it unfair to meet him while I have feelings for another man?´ Elsie asked distressed. ´I would feel so dishonest.´

´I don´t think you have a reason to,´ Isobel answered sensibly. ´You´ll be agreeing to meet him for a cup of tea, not a marriage. If you don´t like him, you can always end the acquaintance.´

´But wouldn´t that be calculating?´ Elsie asked frowning.

´I don´t see it that way,´ Isobel replied. ´You´ve been writing for a while now and you have gotten to know each other rather well. But you can only really know a person if you meet him. Only then you know if there is something there worth pursuing. If you meet him and that something isn´t there… I think it would be only honest to tell him that.´

´I´m afraid I´ll keep comparing him to Charles and that he will never live up to that.´ Elsie admitted softly.

´Let me ask you this then,´ Isobel countered. ´If it hadn´t been for Charles, and you would only have his letters to go by, would you have considered him as a suitor?´

´I don´t know,´ Elise answered thoughtfully. ´I think I might have…´

´Well and that´s only from his letters. Perhaps if you are to meet him and you give it some time, you may grow very fond of him. And if you don´t, then at least you will know for certain.´

Elsie nodded, slowly going through her thoughts. ´I think I will meet him,´ she said eventually. ´I don´t expect to be swept off my feet, but it would be nice to deepen our friendship. At any rate, I need to let go of Charles. He´s never going to return my feelings and that´s all there is to it.´

Isobel could feel a lump forming at her throat. Although Elsie attempted to sound firm, the slight tremor of her voice betrayed just how heartbroken she was.

´I need to get back to the house, everyone will wonder where I´ve scampered off too,´ Elsie announced, getting to her feet. Rising as well, Isobel wrapped her arms around her shoulders in a tight hug.

´Are you going to be alright?´ she asked, still concerned.

´I will be,´ Elsie replied, wiping her face one last time as she headed for the door. ´Or at least in a little while.

Isobel watched her leave from the window of her parlour, thinking grimly she could quite cheerfully strangle Charles Carson.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, I´d love to hear what you think!<strong>


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
><strong>Revelations and preparations<strong>

Isobel experienced a little jolt of excitement when Moseley brought in the letters and placed them neatly on the edge of her desk. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps in the hall, before she reached out and opened the letter rather eagerly.

She had been corresponding with Gregory for a few weeks now and found that she enjoyed his letters immensely. He was a very dedicated doctor and shared her passion for new discoveries and developments in the medical field, which they discussed enthusiastically in their letters. Whether it was the development of x-ray technology, a discussion about vaccination, or the research of anaesthetics, she discovered he was rather knowledgeable on every subject and genuinely valued her opinions as well. After Reginald´s death she hadn´t had anyone with whom she could discuss this to her heart´s desire. Apart from that, they managed to share some stories of a more personal nature. He was one of the few people in which she had confided the troubles she had encountered with her sister. He in return had become more open with her as well, telling her about his lonely childhood and his struggle to find a place to settle down. Curiously she opened the letter and started to read.

_Dear I, _

_One of these days you either have to surrender your name, or I have to start thinking of a nickname for you. It feels rather strange to write to a single letter. Of course I cannot blame you for your secrecy, you have probably understood by now that ´Gregory´ is not my true name either. _

_Your tale about your sister got me thinking. I have always envied people who had siblings, since I did not have any growing up, but reading your letter made me realize that I have perhaps overestimated the idea. You write she has had a major influence on your life but you are not sure whether this was a positive or a negative one. From my perception, the events have shaped you in becoming a strong-willed, dedicated woman who knows what she wants. That is, at any rate, how you come across to me. And as far as I am concerned, those are all very positive qualities. _

_But I know the feeling of lost opportunity, of wondering how things would have turn out if not for certain circumstances. I have told you that I spend ten years in India, doing field work there. The reason I ended up there was a very unpleasant experience with a woman I regret to say has now crossed my path again. _

_Twenty-seven years ago, fresh out of university a friend and I had this grand dream of setting up a medical clinic for the less fortunate in one of Britain´s larger cities. This friend had another friend, a doctor as well, who came from a rather illustrious family. They were aristocrats and I think his cousin owned a rather grand estate. The three of us planned on setting up a free clinic in one of the most down-trodden parts of that city to provide medical care for people who had no other way of affording it. We wanted to put a stop to the diseases spreading like epidemics there, reduce the infant death, advocate a stronger hygiene policy… we were young and idealistic and honestly believed we could change the world. _

_The father of this aristocratic friend offered to give us the money needed to set up the clinic and it would have all worked out splendidly if it hadn´t be for the fiancée of that doctor. I should add that although I never met her, I did met my friend´s friend on various occasions. He seemed a very good sort of man: kind, compassionate and very dedicated to the medical profession. He truly wanted to be a doctor, a healer who brought some relief to this world. Unfortunately his fiancée had other plans for him. Apparently his dream of becoming a philanthropic doctor didn´t sit well with her high ambitions, so she did everything she could to sabotage us. _

_She ended up spreading some vicious rumours about myself and my friend. It was done so very skilfully and in such a manipulative manner that we were unable to defend ourselves or even contradict what she was saying. She managed to create so much doubt and mistrust in our motives and plans that eventually the father revoked his patronage of our clinic. Without any means to finance it, the whole plan went up in smoke. My friend moved to Sussex and set up a practise there and I went to India. _

_Rationally speaking, perhaps it was the course of events. If the clinic had been established, I had never gone to India and I did good work there. But nevertheless, having that project snatched away from me has always been the great regret of my life. Working in India was very fulfilling, but if there´s so much need in one´s own country it seems so foolish to go away. And to think it was all because of the selfish ambitions of a young woman who wanted to raise her own station in life. What baffled me the most is the fact my friends´ friend eventually married the woman after all. _

_It was an unpleasant experience and even after all these years I still wonder how my life would have turned out if that clinic had become a reality. And although it may sounds harsh, I find it hard, if not impossible to forgive this woman for her meddling. _

The letter continued for another page after that, but Isobel felt she couldn´t really concentrate on the words, her thoughts remaining at the first part of his letter. She could comprehend the intensity of his anger almost as if she had shared the experience with him. Once again she was stuck by how alike they were in many respects. His dream of founding an outreach clinic touched close to her own desire to do something that would really make a difference. If given the opportunity, she would jump at a chance to participate in something similar and his anger and bitterness, even after all these years was perfectly sensible to her. It was just such a shame that such a wonderful man had been made broken-winged by the upstart pretensions of shallow girl.

With a little start she realised how fondly she regarded him. Did she truly believe him to be a wonderful man? Pensively she stared down at the letter, suddenly overcome with curiosity. What sort of man would he really be? She found herself most anxious to find that out.

* * *

><p>´Won´t Timothy be joining us?´ Charles asked as he lowered himself at their customary booth at Grantham´s Arms.<p>

´He has an appointment in Leeds tomorrow, so he left this evening in his motorcar,´ Richard replied. ´He´s trying to get a position as a physician there.´

´So he is determined to leave then?´ Charles asked frowning.

Richard nodded and sighed deeply. ´All in all, I think it will be for the best, although I am very sorry to see him go. The situation with Mrs Crawley is becoming unbearable.´

A flash of irritation passed over Charles´ face. ´Do you have any idea what sort of grudge he is holding against her?´

´He only told me a little about it,´ Richard replied slowly. ´And I`ve sworn my secrecy. There is something irregular about it, but he is so reserved about it all…´

´Well, it seems hardly fair towards Mrs Crawley,´ Charles pointed out. ´He´s been treating her ill while she doesn´t even know what she has done wrong.´

´It´s a very complex situation,´ Richard agreed. ´Speaking of which…´ the doctor eyed the man sitting across from him curiously. ´How´s the exchange with your Elisabeth going?´

Charles grimaced and sighed deeply. ´Complicated…´ he answered with a sigh. A few weeks ago, just after he had started to correspond with Elisabeth, he had confided in Richard and told him all about the ad and the replies he had received. To his surprise, Richard had been nothing but supportive and understanding, even going as far as saying that he rather admired his courage. Over the following weeks Richard had occasionally inquired how the exchange was going and now Charles felt very eager to discuss the matter that in his mind had grown to a proportion far greater than he could bite of.

´I have asked her to meet me,´ he told Richard, looking very much as if he was arranging his funeral.

´Really!´ Richard´s surprise was evident as he sat up straight in the booth. ´That´s very… forward for you. How did she respond?´

´I received her letter today,´ Charles replied, still looking grave. ´She has agreed to meet me at a teashop in Ripon – if you´ll believe it. She might actually be from this neighbourhood.´

´That´s certainly surprising,´ Richard commented. ´It would make things a lot easier if she lived nearby. What are your intentions?´

´I don´t know…´ In all their years of friendship, Richard had never seen the butler looking so utterly abysmal. ´I have come to care for Elisabeth a great deal – far more than I ever imagined possible. I find myself anxious to meet her, to find out who she is… but at the same time…´

´What´s holding you back?´ Richard asked carefully.

´It is more a matter of who is holding me back…´ Charles´ voice was so quiet, Richard could barely make it out over the noise at the pub.

´This is about Elsie Hughes.´ He didn´t ask, but just stated it as the fact he knew it was, keenly aware of the risk he was taking as Charles had never admitted to feel anything beyond friendship for the housekeeper.

Charles only gave the slightest of nods in acknowledgement. ´It is about Elsie. I am the worse kind of cad imaginable.´

´How did you come to that conclusion?´ Richard felt he was walking on eggshells, knowing full well that this level of openness was probably a profound sign of the deep state of inner turmoil Charles was experiencing.

´By all accounts Elisabeth appears a wonderful person,´ Charles started with difficulty. ´And I find myself being genuinely interested in her. But at the same time, my affection for Elsie is so strong…´

´And you´ve never made these thoughts known to her?´

´No,´ Charles replied eventually. ´I know she cares deeply for me and we´ve been the best of friends for a good many years, but… I do not believe that she is in any way romantically interested in me. She has never given me any indication that she is.´

´And you have never considered telling her about your attachment?´ Richard asked gently.

´Oh, I´ve considered it…´ Charles gave a hollow laugh. ´I´ve considered it on countless occasions, but I always held back. It´s too great a risk to take, if she does not return my sentiments – and again, I have no indication that she does – our friendship would be ruined. And I rather have the certainty of her friendship than risking it for a mere chance.´

´Would you really?´ Richard asked.

´Yes!´ Charles replied determined. ´Her friendship means everything to me. I couldn´t bear to be without it. I would have known if she returned my feelings and she doesn´t.´

Privately believing that his friend couldn´t be more wrong on that score, Richard sighed inwardly. He respected and cared for Charles a great deal, but there was no denying that the man could be unbelievably obtuse, especially when Elsie Hughes was concerned. So convinced he was that his feelings for her were something that needed to be defied, there was no room in his mind for any other view on the matter. Realizing it would be pointless to try and change his mind – the mere fact that he had acknowledge tonight that he had feelings for Elsie could already be considered a milestone – Richard progressed to his next question.

´So what attracted you to Elisabeth then?´

´Her sensibility and her kindness,´ Charles answered immediately. ´I was reluctant at first, but as we exchanged more letters I found it easier to confide in her.´

´Just like Elsie,´ Richard concluded, sighing deeply.

Charles nodded. ´Which is what makes it so complicated. I have made my peace with the fact that Elsie will never return my feelings, so I´ve attempted to move forward from there, hence why I placed the advertisement. Meeting Elisabeth – even if only through letters - was more than I expected. But now that I am meeting her I fear… that my feelings for Elsie have influenced my feelings for Elisabeth.´

Richard remained silent for a while, playing with his glass and trying to formulate his thoughts as careful as possible. ´I suppose there could be no harm in meeting this Elisabeth…´ he started eventually. ´But for grief´s sake Charles, don´t string her along. You have to feel more for her then you do for Elsie, not as much, but more, if you are to pursue her. You probably won´t know that until you meet her, but do be honest with her.´

´I will…´ Charles replied earnestly. 'And to be honest, I don't think she can every replace Elsie in my heart. I may have thought for a while that she did, may have wanted to believe it… but you are very right¸ it wouldn't be fair to her to trifle with her.'

'Nothing is worse than believing you have found happiness, only to have it snatched away from you again,' Richard said bitterly, appearing lost in a world of his own. 'When the other one changes her mind or appears not to love you enough. Honesty is far kinder then false hope.'

Realizing full well that he was mentioning his broken engagement with Maureen – something he hadn't even mentioned in the last ten years, Charles remained silent and quietly finished his brandy. He would meet Elisabeth. And he had not the slightest clue what to expect from the meeting. Or even decide what he _wanted_ to expect from it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Next time: Harold and Elisabeth finally meet… and Isobel and Timothy are in for a stormy ride!_

**Please let me know what you think so far! **


	16. Chapter 15

_A/N: reposted & beta-read now! _

Chapter 15  
><strong>The meeting<strong>

The little teashop in Ripon Harold had suggested them to meet turned out to be a quiet, nicely decorated place. Elsie had heard it mentioned, but she had never visited the establishment before now. Arriving hours too early, she had killed most of the time by wandering in and out of shops in Ripon all morning, until it was one o´clock in the afternoon, just an hour away from her appointment with Harold. She had stepped inside and told the waiter there was an reservation for two ´o clock. The man had nodded his head solemnly, his face not betraying the slightest indication, as he had taken her hat and coat and directed her to a small table in a secluded, private corner. Now she had one hour of anxiety left to endure before she was to meet the man who had aroused her curiosity so much in the last few weeks with his letters.

To say she was nervous would be a gross understatement. Tightly wound like a fiddle appeared to be more accurate. She hadn´t slept for more than a few hours together in the last night, worrying constantly about the potentially foolish thing she was about to do. She had thought at first that meeting him in such a public spot as a teashop in Ripon was a very prudent move. And the fact that it had been him who had suggested it in the first place, had only increased her believe in his trustworthiness. Now she wasn´t so certain anymore. No matter what Isobel said, she must be mad to agree to meet a perfectly strange man miles away from her home.

Her thoughts had been a jumble all morning. What if she didn´t like him? How was she ever going to excuse herself an extract herself from the situation? How was she politely going to decline writing to him any longer? What if she did like him? What if he liked her and she could only think of Charles?

From the table she was sitting on she could look through the window into the street. It was a rather warm day and she couldn´t help but feel a little suffocated in her neat, cream-coloured blouse, adorned with small flowers and her navy blue skirt. Once again she cursed her own vanity for having pulled the laces of her corset just a little tighter than usual that morning. She was feeling a little nauseated with nerves, constantly checking the door to see if someone would enter, knowing full well it was far too early for his arrival. As per agreement she had placed his last letter neatly at the side of the table, in such a way it could be easily seen upon walking up to the table so he would recognize her the moment he came in.

She honestly didn´t know what to expect from this meeting. Over the weeks she had come to appreciate Harold as a kind, considerate man. The level of openness between them had surprised her and if she had been younger or if it hadn´t been for Charles… twisting her napkin nervously between her fingers, she wondered again if her ready consent to meet Harold was not very much incensed by the knowledge that Charles was pursuing a woman himself. Another woman, rather than her. After their conversation in his pantry they hadn´t discussed it again, but she suspected he was to meet her today. When she had told him she would like to have this day off to visit a friend he had been a little put out. But as she had pointed out to him that, with the family still in London, the house would hardly fall apart if the butler and housekeeper were absent for one day, he had reluctantly agreed.

For the last week, ever since their conversation, their interactions had been strained. A rift had started to form between them and she could already feel herself drifting away from him. The closeness, the exclusivity of their relationship was gone. Presumptuous as it was, she had always assumed that, notwithstanding his attachment to the family, she was the most important person in his life. Knowing about this woman now, who she had begun to resent more and more as the week wore on, she keenly felt that she was overthrown.

She had never experienced jealousy before and she found that it didn´t agree with her at all. She was surprised at the venomously of her thoughts as she tried to imagine what sort of woman could have captured Charles´ attention.  
>And here she was, getting aquatinted with another gentleman herself. Her nerves, she knew, were mostly steaming from a feeling of dishonesty. The poor man she was about to meet, no matter how wonderful he was, was no match against Charles. All she could hope to gain from this experience was another friend.<p>

* * *

><p>He had asked Branson to drop him off in Ripon an hour prior to his meeting with Elisabeth and as Charles sat in the front of the car, it didn´t take much effort to block out the young chauffeur´s voice as he droned on about socialism, the voice of his own thoughts keeping him occupied well enough. It all boiled down to the very same question he had been asking himself for the last few weeks: ´<em>What on earth was he thinking<em>?´ Why was he in a car, dressed in his Sunday suit on his way to have a romantic rendezvous with a woman he had never met before? Who, by all accounts could be as nutty as a doornail? How was he going detangle himself if that was the case? He had never been one to pursue woman actively. As a young man, he had found that the forward, boisterous girls were too loud and superficial for his liking. And the quiet, more introverted girls never offered him enough encouragement to actively seek them out.  
>During his years in the music halls he had recognized early on that the women he met there weren´t of the kind that would make him happy. And then Elsie had come along and he had never bothered to look at another woman.<p>

Until now. His fondness for Elisabeth still surprised him. And although it didn´t come near what he felt for Elsie, it was real. He had fretted about it during all the hours he had laid awake that night, replaying the conversation with Richard over and over again in his mind. Was his liking for Elisabeth only fuelled by his love for Elsie? He had tried to picture Elisabeth in his mind, but for some reason she always turned into Elsie. He could hear some of the things Elisabeth wrote come from Elsie´s mouth. Was he only interested in meeting Elisabeth because there was the possibility of a romantic relationship there, while he and Elsie were bound to the confinements that came with a life in service? And if such were his intentions, what sort of man did that make him?

Apart from splitting hairs regarding his own behaviour, he was also deeply concerned by Elsie´s. Something was amiss. He had known her long enough – knew her well enough to be able to tell. She had appeared withdrawn all week, finding excuses every night not to join him in his pantry or invite him over for a cup of tea in hers. He wondered what could be bothering her. The change in her behaviour could be traced back to the evening he had told her about meeting Elisabeth. He wondered if, despite her reassurances that she didn´t, she thought him to be a very great fool indeed. Or perhaps she was worried this would alter the way he performed his duties. He knew he would worry about that if she would start gallivanting with other men. Apart from running mad with jealousy.

* * *

><p>Arriving in Ripon an hour too early for the appointment he told Branson where he would meet him at precisely four o´ clock in the afternoon. Setting his bowler firmly, he walked around town for a bit before he headed towards the teashop. The teashop had been a suggestion of Richard who had praised it for its impeccable service and quiet atmosphere. He had let nothing to the fates to make sure their encounter would run smoothly and without any nasty surprises. They would meet at two o´ clock and he had phoned in advance, requesting a private, secluded table. To prevent any horrendous mix-ups – and he freely admitted having had nightmares about such an occasion happening- he had written to Elisabeth, asking her to bring this very letter, as he would bring hers, so that there could be no doubt they would indeed be meeting the person they had been corresponding with for the last months. About a quarter to two ´o clock he entered <em>Miss Cranston´s Tea Room<em> and announced himself to the waiter.

´Sir, you´ll be pleased to know that the lady is already waiting for your company,´ the man told him stoically, taking his coat and bowler.  
>So at least she was punctual. He hadn´t really expected anything different from her, but still he was pleased to notice this. After the waiter had dispensed of his coat, he let him through the dimply lit hallway and main room to a secluded, closed veranda. He was relieved to notice the place was more or less deserted. At least he would be allowed the privacy to get to know her better.<p>

´There you go, sir,´ the waiter announced, stepping aside as to give him room to pass. He felt the clench in his stomach and the uptake of his heartbeat as he took a first glimpse at the woman sitting at the table. Her head was bowed and her hands were fiddling anxiously with a napkin.

His breath caught in his throat as he realized he would recognize those slender fingers and dark curls everywhere. Still, his mind refused to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. Even when she looked up and he could see the shock he was experiencing mirrored in her eyes and facial expressions, he still was incapable to believe it. She rose to her feet, never once taking her eyes of him, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips.

There must have been a misunderstanding, a mistake, despite his careful preparations, his mind told him frantically, still staring incredulously at the woman in front of him.

´Charles…?´ she managed to breathe eventually, the all too familiar voice finally rearing him out of his perplexed state. He tore his gaze away from her face and it swept across the room, finally settling on the neatly folded letter at the corner of the table.

It was his, he recognized it instantly.

She followed his gaze and her startled eyes widened even more. ´It´s yours?´ she whispered rather breathlessly.

By way of answer he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out her last letter.

She blinked rapidly as if seeing it made it suddenly more true to her. ´Oh goodness…´ she eventually managed.

Recovering his senses somewhat, he indicated the table wordlessly and when she nodded they sat down. He had, however, not rallied himself enough to regain the ability to speak.  
>Apparently, neither had she.<p>

As the waiter poured their tea and presented them with a plate of refreshments, the silence between them continued to stretch on. He continued to watch her though, his mind slowly coming to terms with was right in front of him. When the waiter had left and she brought the delicate porcelain teacup to her lips with shaking hands, he finally managed in a soft tone: ´Then it was you all this time.´

* * *

><p>Upon seeing him standing in front of her, looking shocked, but otherwise inscrutable, she thought for an insane, fleeting instant that she had been caught out. That he had somehow found out about her correspondence and had followed her here. Then she realized how ridiculous a thought that was. When his eyes fell on the letter, Harold´s letter…. Charles´ letter, as she was slowly starting to comprehend, she heard his sharp intake of breath and understood. It had been him writing to her all these weeks. Oddly enough, it wasn´t until he took her own letter from his pocket that she realized it had been <em>her<em> who had been writing to _him_ as well. She´d thought she knew everything about him. But as her eyes darted between the letter on the table and the one in his hands, she realized there was a whole world she had yet to find out.

She was grateful when he invited her to sit down. She didn´t know for certain if her legs had been able to keep her up for much longer. At least he was sitting down as well. All the while the waiter poured their tea and fussed over the table she stared at him, acutely aware of the way her heart was hammering in her chest and how difficult it was to really breathe.

He was looking at her with the most peculiar expression on his face. The shock on his face was slowly giving away to wonderment and his eyes slid over her face, as intimate as any touch could be, as if he was trying to assure himself that it was really her who was sitting across from him. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time and yet, there was the familiarity of knowing him for the best part of her life.

´It was you…´ he spoke eventually, his voice betraying his amazement. ´All this time… it was you.´

* * *

><p>His nerves were wrecking him. His mind was in overdrive, trying to come to terms with the fact that it has been Elsie, his Elsie, he´d been writing to all these weeks. And he was completely at loss at where to start the conversation. And yet, a deep sense of peace enfolded him as he looked at her face, his guilt and doubt evaporating instantly. He marvelled at the discovery that his heart had been right all along, Elsie and Elisabeth were the same woman.<p>

´So it appears…´ she replied softly. ´I´m sorry, Charles,´ she apologized. ´I´m afraid the shock still has got the better of me.´

The corner of his mouth turned upwards just a fraction. ´I think I can say with complete honesty that I have never been this dumbstruck before.´

She grinned at his words and the tension between them was lifted somewhat.

´Elisabeth?´ he asked.

She shrugged, her eyes darting over his face. ´Elsie is a shortening of Elisabeth. I thought it was fitting. How did you come to call yourself Harold?´

´It was my father´s name,´ he answered, taking a sip of his own tea. ´I rather liked your suggestion of not disclosing too much personal information.´

* * *

><p>Her feelings were a mess to say the least. It was Charles. And the unspeakable, almost shattering relief this discovery brought her was enough to make her head spin.<br>It was _Charles_ – it caused her stomach to twist nervously. As prudent and respectable as her correspondence with Harold had been, there had always been the underlying sense of something there. She had told herself firmly from the beginning that she was only interested in his friendship, but the possibility, the idea of romance had been so much easier to phantom.

´It was you,´ she heard him repeat again and she smiled at his dazed expression. He really seemed to have a hard time comprehending. Of course, if a few months ago someone had told her that Charles Carson would post an advertisement in a magazine, seeking for a companion and she herself would respond to it, she would have declared that person to be barking mad.

´I´m glad I´m still able to surprise you,´ she said rather flippantly. ´Although I must say you´ve managed to surprise me on some accounts as well.´

To her surprise and worry his face immediately fell and he broke their eye-contact. His shoulders slumped and he stared down at his cup and saucer, a dejected expression on his face.

´Ah yes… I imagine founding out about my years on the stage must have been quite a blow to you…´

´Charles!´ she uttered his name rather incredulously. Before he could make another reply she had reached out and placed her hand over his, keeping it securely on the table.

´Charles!´ she started again, rather intently. ´I meant what I wrote you then and I mean it even more saying it now: you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.´

He lifted his eyes to hers again and she was struck by the pained expression in his eyes that seemed to be begging for reassurance. To others his self-induced shame may be laughable, but she understood how genuinely upset he was about it. Tightening her grip on his hand a little, she continued: ´I know how much you wished it hadn´t happened, but it was what – forty years ago? You are no longer that man. And even still, the young man you were then couldn´t have been so wretched either.´

He gave a tiny smile. ´Perhaps it wasn´t the stage as such, but the entire scene around it… I´ve never felt comfortable there, I´ve always been ashamed of being a part of it. And then Grigg stole the money, robbed that little theatre…´

´And you did the honourable thing,´ she interrupted him. ´You left and made amends for what Grigg had done. Goodness Charles, you were young! We were all young and stupid. I´m not particularly proud myself of the times I had to climb gutters to sneak back in the house in the middle of the night because I broke my curfew, but there you have it. I was young and foolish!´

He chuckled lightly. ´One time that happened.´

Her eyes widened again in surprise. ´You knew about that? We were so careful, how did you ever found out?´

´Very early the next morning, while you all were still out cold, I was making my rounds around the house and I noticed a very delicate, white lace handkerchief, which I recognized as yours, stuck at the top of the pipe near the roof, waving happily in the wind.´

´What did you do?´ she asked, not believing her ears.

´I climbed up and pulled it down,´ he replied simply. ´Before anyone could raise awkward questions.´

* * *

><p>Her happy laughter was music to his ears. She appeared more relaxed, more herself here, away from the house. More Elsie and less Mrs Hughes, the impressive housekeeper. It made him wonder if he should try to get her away from the house more often.<p>

´How have you been, Elsie?´ he asked softly, studying her closely. ´I feels as if I have hardly talked with you at all this past week.´

She blushed and looked down at their still joined hands on the table. ´I´m sorry about that,´ she eventually offered quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. ´I´ve been rather preoccupied.´

´About this meeting?´ he asked, trying to understand.

´That too and…´ she halted, biting her lip nervously. ´About the idea of you pursuing a woman…´

The blush on her face deepened and he suddenly felt flustered himself. ´Did it… bother you?´ he asked tentatively, hope and fear battling inside him.

´It did…´ she admitted, her voice so soft he could barely make it out. ´Would it have bothered you if I had told you I was meeting a gentleman this afternoon?´ She looked him in the eyes now, holding her breath.

A surge of jealousy overtook him and him at the thought of another man trying to win her affection and for the first time he realized how very lucky he had been.

´Yes, it would have bothered me, Elsie,´ he answered honestly. ´It would have bothered me a great deal.

He shifted his hand underneath hers and turned it so that he was now holding it. The tension between them was tangible and to him it appeared as if his surroundings were fading away. All that mattered was the woman sitting across the table from him.

´Where do we go from here?´ she whispered. ´What were your intentions upon meeting Elisabeth?´

He knew that a chance like this would probably never present itself again. This whole moment was surreal. He was sitting in a teashop in Ripon, holding Elsie´s hand, having fallen in love with her on two separate occasions. He could tell her now, or resign to a platonic friendship for the rest of his life.  
>He took a deep breath and decided to take to plunge. ´I thought Elisabeth was perfect in every way. Apart from one thing… She wasn´t you.´<p>

A radiant smile was slowly spreading over her face and unless he was very much mistaken, her eyes seemed a little moist. ´And now that you know?´

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, idly tracing patterns on the white skin. Then he raised their hands and lightly, almost reverently pressed a kiss on her fingertips.

´Now I never want to let go.´

* * *

><p>They stayed at the teashop for another hour, sipping their tea, nibbling on bits of toast or scones, occasionally talking, but most of the time just enjoying the silence, trying to grasp the significance of all that had happened. When the clock on the mantelpiece chimed four they got up to leave, him explaining that Branson was waiting for them only a few streets away. He helped her in coat, but when they stepped out of the teashop he took hold of her hand again. It wasn´t until the car came in sight that he let go, with a regretful sideway glance. Although she felt the loss of his touch keenly, she was relieved as well. For the moment she wasn´t ready to share this new understanding with anyone.<p>

If Branson found it odd that she was joining them on their drive back to the house he didn´t say anything. Every so often she stole a glance at the man sitting beside her, still marvelling at what had transpired. It had been him all that time! The man who had stirred feelings of affection was the same man who had held her heart all along. It was all the confirmation she needed to know that no one else but this man could ever make her truly happy. This time she would take the chance, she promised herself.

Once they had returned at the main house and Branson drove the car around to the garage they walked in silence up to the servant´s entrance. Before they entered however he stopped her with his hand on her elbow. ´Can I come to your sitting room this evening?´ he asked cautiously.

Her heart fluttered, her cheeks reddened and her stomach did a backflip. And for a moment she was annoyed with herself to no end because of her juvenile reaction. _Really_, she seethed inwardly. _You appear like an eighteen year girl, asked to go to the village dance by a boy._ But the next moment it didn´t matter anymore. For eighteen or fifty one, basically it felt the same. She smiled and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.  
>´I would like that very much.´<p>

* * *

><p>The moment they stepped into the servant´s hall they stepped right back in the usual hustle and bustle of the house. Mrs Patmore was screaming at Daisy at the top of her lungs, while the poor girl scampered across the kitchen, frantically trying to follow all the instructions as fast as possible. At the table Thomas was taunting William about something, while Rose was sitting at the other end, looking very much as if she wanted to disappear. She hadn´t even begun to unbutton her coat when Anna came dashing into the servant´s hall, looking rather panicked.<p>

´Mrs Hughes… Mr Carson… thank goodness you are back!´

´Did something happen in our absence?´ Elsie asked resigned.

Anna nodded. ´One of the painters charged with redoing the wooden framework of the dining room accidentally knocked over a pot of paint and it spilled all over the hardwood floor.´

´Good grief,´ Elsie muttered, hurrying out of her coat and turning towards Charles. ´I´ll take in the damage, will you talk to the men?´

He nodded in agreement and soon they had both gone their separate ways.

* * *

><p>The accident with the paint kept her occupied until dinner and then she had to overlook the cleaning of the dishes and the rearrangement of the linen cabinets.<p>

A little after nine she found Charles at the silver cabinet, checking the inventory. ´I´ve arranged for a few men to come tomorrow to sand the floor of the dining room,´ he told her with a small frown.

´Thank you,´ she answered relieved. ´It will mean extra work, but I think we´ll manage before the family returns home.´

´Let´s hope so,´ he replied a little gruffly. He locked the silver cabinet and together they walked through the hall leading to her sitting room. Suddenly the atmosphere between them changed and Elsie could feel her nerves rearing again.

She opened the door of her parlour and motioned for him to go in first. Once they were inside and the door closed behind her the room was filled with tension again. ´Would you like some tea?´ she asked, saying the first thing that came to her mind.

He nodded and sat down on the settee. She felt his eyes watching her as she busied herself with the kettle and tea set. When she had her tray ready she walked over to where he was sitting and placed the tray carefully down on the low table. Hesitating for a brief moment she sat down next to him on the settee instead of opting for the armchair. Rather shyly she met his gaze.

Ever so slowly he reached out and captured her hand again, holding it in his own, much larger one. ´Elsie…´ he began with a slight tremor in his voice. ´You know that I care about you… you are my dearest friend and I would not do anything to harm our friendship.´

She realized he was as afraid as she was. Swallowing with difficulty she asked shakily: ´But how much do you care, Charles? What do you really feel for me?´

He expelled a deep breath and turned slightly on the sofa, so that he was facing her fully now. His eyes bore into hers and his grip on her hand became stronger. His voice was deep with pend up emotion, but his voice was clear and his words simple and without any fanfare.

´I love you, Elsie.´

She hardly had any breath left, his words effecting her more than she had held possible. And yet she had to ask, the question that had been plaguing her in the back of her mind all afternoon. ´Then why did you post that ad?´

´Because I was convinced that you would never return my feelings. I thought I should try and move on and attempted to do so. But writing to Elisabeth only enforced my feelings for you. In the end I was still looking for you…´

She closed her eyes in attempt to hold back the tears, but a few of them still managed to escape from beneath her eyelids. Their paths however where interrupted by the creases of her smile. ´Oh thank goodness… I´ve had the most miserable week, thinking you had found someone else.´

´Never!´ he stated adamantly, shifting a little closer to her until their knees bumped, his arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa, his hand very near head. ´There is no one else but you and I would very much like to pursue you… if that would be agreeable to you…´

´You even have to ask? She was beaming, leaving him breathless and in awe. He had never seen her eyes sparkle like that, he had never known the skin of her face could glow with happiness. He shifted his arm on the settee so he could trace her cheek with his fingers, mesmerizing the silky texture of her skin. Slowly they were drifting closer together.

As his lips brushed across hers, she could still feel his fingers stroke the side of her face and the tenderness of it tugged at her heart. Cautiously her hands slid over his chest and linked behind his neck as he pulled her closer still.

He kissed her as if he had all the time in the world, slowly exploring the shape of her lips and savouring it´s taste. Eventually he slowly deepened the kiss, but even then he kept his pace slow. Wrapped up in his arms, Elsie´s world ceased to exist except for the sensations he was creating, his mouth over hers, his hands on her back and waist. And as her head began to spin and all rational thought fell away, she knew it had all been worthwhile.

* * *

><p><em>One couple down, two to go… I hope it lived up to the expectations! <em>


	17. Chapter 16

_A/N: I´m so glad you liked the Charles/Elsie chapter so much. This chapter will probably remind you of a few scenes in ´You´ve got mail´, since much of the Isobel/Timothy story-line is based on that. _

Chapter 16  
><strong>A most ungentlemanlike fashion<strong>

She wouldn´t go as far as to say that she was actually nervous. It was more a feeling of excitement she was experiencing. Excitement and extreme curiosity. She was barely able to contain herself as she sat on the bench beneath the tall oak tree, aimlessly leafing through the pages of the magazine on her lap. She could only tap her foot softly on the grass as not to draw attention to herself, fighting down another wave of giddiness. She was finally going to meet her Gregory and she was looking forward to it immensely. Her foot absent-mindedly tapped the rhythm of an almost forgotten nursery-song she´d hopscotched on as a little girl as she allowed her thoughts to wander.

* * *

><p>The day after Elsie´s meeting with her mysterious correspondent she had called on the great house early that afternoon, knowing her friend who have an hour or so to spare to tell her how she had fared. Upon entering her sitting room she had taken one look at the housekeeper´s radiant face and shining eyes before she had slid down on a chair, simply burning with curiosity.<p>

´Tell me everything, for I assumed it went well.´

´It was wonderful,´ Elsie had nodded happily as she poured the tea and sat down. She was blushing slightly and for some reason couldn´t stop grinning.

Happy as she was for her friend, Isobel couldn´t help but feel astonished by this poignant progress. Only the day before Elsie had stated adamantly that she had no romantic interest whatsoever in this Harold person.

´So, he was everything you expected then?´ she ventured carefully.

Elsie looked up, her eyes betraying her merriment. ´He was nothing near what I expected. I can honestly say I have never been so surprised in my life!´

´But you got along well, didn´t you?´ Isobel asked, getting more confused every with each passing second.

´Oh yes,´ Elsie answered, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing out loud. ´It was like we´d known each other for years.´

Isobel squinted her eyes a little, backtracking the conversation. ´There is something you´re not telling me… what am I missing?´

´The man I went to meet… Harold, the person I have been exchanging letters with for the past months…´ Elsie let the pause endure for dramatic purposes, until Isobel was leaning forward so far she was about to fall out of her seat, ´… was Charles.´

The shocked silence that followed lasted for a full ten seconds.

_´What?´_ Isobel had to grip the armrest of her chair before she really slid to the ground. ´It was Charles? Charles Carson?´

Elsie managed to nod before dissolving into giggles. She had been looking forward to telling Isobel all day and her reaction was definitely living up to her expectations.

´But… but…´Isobel stammered, unable to catch on completely. ´So you have been writing to Charles all these weeks… and he´s been writing to you?´

´That about sums it up,´ Elsie nodded, composing herself a little.

´I… just…´Isobel sank back in her chair, an incredulous expression on her face. ´I don´t quite know what to say.´

´Well, that´s pretty much how I felt yesterday afternoon,´ Elsie answered with some humour.

´You must have been very shocked,´ Isobel said, a note of seriousness in her voice now.

Elsie shook her head thoughtfully, a smile playing around her lips. ´Not really. I was surprised to be sure, but mostly… I was relieved. The woman he had met and was planning to court…´ she gave Isobel a meaningful look and the other woman gasped in understanding.

´That was you!´

´It looks like I´ve been fretting over it for nothing,´´ Elsie answered while taking a sip from her tea.

´So?´ Isobel asked impatiently. ´Is he courting you now?´

Elsie´s already flustered face turned a deep shade of red, but she nodded fervently. ´He is. He told me he loves me… has loved me for years.´

The joy coming from her was almost tangible and Isobel could feel herself choking up. ´Are you happy then?´ she asked quietly. ´Does he make you happy?´

If possible Elsie beamed even more and nodded again. ´Very much.´

* * *

><p>She had already been toying with idea of meeting Gregory for some time then. Their letters exchanged on a rather swift rate, she wrote him almost daily and as their correspondence progressed she became more and more interested in him. She found out more personal details about him, one thing among others that he actually came from the same county. He was attentive and considerate. He remembered things she wrote him about weeks ago and he asked regularly to fill him in on things she had told him earlier. She adored his dedication to his work and his passion for medicine. And some of his confessions had touched her deeply. He had told her how his mother had died when he was only two years old and how he only had the faintest memories of her. His father had been a doctor as well, but unable to deal with the grief of losing his wife he had pulled away from his son and dived head first into his practise. He worked long hours, often until late into the night, barely home to look after his son. As a child he had never been wanting for anything, but the endless string of nursery maids and governesses hadn´t been able to provide him with the home he craved. When he had turned ten years old he was send to boarding school to obtain an education. Isobel shuddered as she remembered that particular letter.<p>

When Matthew was growing up, some well-meaning friends had suggested Reginald and her should send their son to a school as well. Reginald, who had always been taught under the care of schoolmasters at home until he had gone to university hadn´t thought much of it. And she had been fervently opposed to the idea of sending her only boy to live in a stark, demanding institution until he turned eighteen, save for a few weeks in the summer and during Christmas when he was allowed to return home.

Apparently Gregory´s father had felt no such scruples and Gregory has spent his youth in a place where honour and duty were the norm, and affection and display of emotion, no matter how little was regarded to be an unmanly trait. Of course he had never told her so in those exact words, but Isobel had managed to read between the lines and form her own assessment of his upbringing.

He had told her how after university he had gone to India to work at a clinic there. When he had returned to England he had briefly courted a young woman, the sister of one of his friends. But as time wore on and it became evident that her family was expecting a declaration from him, even an engagement, he had called off the understanding. He wrote that at the time he felt his work was too important to him to divide his attention between the hospital and his wife. Feeling his wife would always come second he had thought it to be more prudent to withdraw himself.

After that letter she had wondered for a while if it was wise to continue her correspondence with a man who obviously had difficulties to allow other people near him, especially as she got more and more taken with him. In the end she had decided she would just take the risk. Like she had told Elsie a few weeks ago, she would never know for certain if there was something there until she got to know him outside his letters.

So she had written to him, suggesting to meet him in a park in Kirby and to her delight he had rapidly agreed. So they were to meet each other today, underneath the large oak tree near the pound. She would be sitting on a bench, reading a medical journal so he would have no doubt which woman to approach.

She wasn´t nervous. She was excited. It was all going to be just wonderful.

* * *

><p>´Nurse Hobbs, I cannot stress enough how important it is the ward is kept impeccably clean!´ an exasperated Richard told the surly looking nurse. ´Infections will spread like wildfire if they have room to fester… you must observe the cleaning schedule.´<p>

Nurse Hobbs made no reply, she only nodded her head, but something in the expression from her dark eyes and frowned brow irked him immensely. He assumed she wasn´t being insubordinate on purpose, but he couldn´t help but want to tell her to ´wipe that look of her face.´

´I have heard from Dr Wellington as well that you have difficulty following his instructions,´ Richard continued. The anger in the younger woman´s face became now more obvious.

´I´m sorry to hear Dr Wellington is displeased with my performance,´ she answered coldly. ´But we cannot all live up to his high standards.´

´I must point out to you that you are still in your trial period,´ Richard retorted, his annoyance increasing. ´And I´m sorry to tell you that I believe your work is lacking. From the report I received from the London Hospital I thought your performance to be of higher standard.´

´I can assure you I never had any complaints from my supervisors there,´ Eileen Hobbs answered. ´Quite the contrary, they were very pleased with me.´

´Then you better remember that you are no longer in London but at Downton,´ Richard replied, ´we expect you to meet our standards, nurse Hobbs.´

When he had dismissed the young woman he sat down at his desk, frowning slightly. Something was askew here. Eileen Hobbs had come to Downton only two months ago, recommended in the highest praises by one of the board members of London Hospital… yet she was painfully lacking in skills and dedication. He once again pulled her letter of recommendation from his drawer and scanned its content. Then his name fell on the signature on the bottom and he groaned.

* * *

><p>It was safe to say that most of his reticence was now gone. They had met, either in her sitting room or his pantry every evening for the last week, after their work had been done. There was no rush or great alterations in their routine. After all, they had been close for a great many years and moving on to this next phase, although long overdue, was only the next step. To anyone but them it seemed as if nothing had changed.<p>

Yet to them everything had. It was very much like getting to know each other all over again. And he marvelled at the things he found out about her. He´d always thought he knew her pretty well, but now he got to see a whole new side of her. He knew all there was to know about Mrs Hughes. He knew more about Elsie then probably anyone else did, but now he got to know Elsie in love. With him. After years of denying to himself that she could feel anything for him, he wondered how he could have ever been so blind. There was a smile he´d always assumed she saved just for him. Now she gave him that smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss and he wondered how he could have missed it before.

He surprised himself at how easy he found it to be with her. He had always cared for her, had always kept her interest and well-being first in his mind, but now that he was at liberty to do so he showed her his love easily, in countless little gestures. She had never been far from his thoughts, but now he strived to have her never far from his arms either. He found numerous excuses to touch her during the day. Nothing inappropriate of course, just a brush across her hand with his fingertips or a soft bump of his arm against hers. Just to affirm that they belonged together, that there was a whole world more than the butler and the housekeeper. Once he had thought that telling her about his feelings for her would be physically impossible, that the words would be unable to make the transgression from his head to his mouth, unable to form themselves, unable to leave his mouth. It would ruin their friendship, it would ruin him. After that first declaration, which had indeed been among the hardest things he had ever done, the words had come easily. When they were alone together he couldn't help but whisper declarations of love against her skin as he kissed and held her, their relationship progressing slowly, one step at the time.

He knew himself to be a rather affectionate person. Far more than people tended to give him credit for. He might not do well with violent emotional explosions, but he had no particular difficulty in showing his care for other people. It was just that until he had precious few people to whom he could show his care. Until now. Until Elsie. And after almost two decades of silence and denial he was determined to ensure she would never doubt his love for her again.

* * *

><p>Timothy Wellington parked his car on a dead end road near the park and walked the last part. It was a glorious day. The sun was bright and warm and the trees still full and lustrous. He walked quickly, purposely, trying to calm his nerves with every determined step he took. She had beat him to suggesting it, but as the weeks had worn on he had gotten more and more curious to meet this mysterious woman who wrote such warm, descriptive letters. Who he, in the short time he had known her, had come to regard as a friend, a confidant. The turn of events – he could still remember his cringing apprehension when he first replied to her ad – had been a most welcome surprise. Between his anger about the way he had been dismissed from London Hospital and his growing frustration with Isobel Crawley, her letters had provided him with the much needed distraction and possibility to unload some of the burden. He had never come across a woman who displayed so many different and sometimes even contradicting qualities. Acting flippant, bordering on completely mad one moment to intelligent and highly opinionated the next. She was tender and deep-feeling, but also extremely determined, to the point of being overbearing – which she admitted to be openly. She had a passion and a dedication that matched his own, which was perhaps the trait that had drawn him to her the most. He was intrigued by her, he couldn´t wait to finally meet her, firmly believing on the one hand that she could only surpass in person who she´d appeared to be in her letters, dreading on the other hand that she could never live up to his expectations.<p>

He took the long route through the park in attempt to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He noticed the garden restaurant, thinking to himself it would be an ideal place to go for refreshments during the course of the afternoon. He nodded his head in acknowledgement to the people he passed on the curving path. Couples who walked arm in arm at a leisurely pace, nursery maids with children and the occasional vendor. Quietly he thought that her suggestion to meet here was a stroke of genius. It would provide them the privacy to walk and talk undisturbed, while it was public enough to make it appropriate.

She had asked to meet him at the oak tree near the pond and as the path took a rather sharp turn he saw the large pound coming in sight. The oak tree was impossible to miss and underneath was a white bench, occupied by one woman. She was slightly turned at first he only noticed her back. She sat perfectly straight, wearing a plum coloured coat and a light hat. She was holding something in her lap and as he continued to walk, his heart beating faster in anticipation with every step he took, he noticed a he came closer that it was a magazine.

There could be no mistake. This was the woman he had been corresponding with for weeks. Thick strands of hair, a warm colour of wheat, pinned up neatly were visible between her hat and the graceful arch of her neck. It was then that the first tremor of suspicion began to rise in his chest.

He took another step, the path turning slightly again. She still hadn´t noticed him, but now he was standing more to the side and this new position afforded him the ability to look at her profile. His heart sank and an irrational surge of anger welled up inside him. The magazine she was leafing through was indeed a medical journal. There was no mistake. Isobel Crawley was the woman he´d been writing to, the woman he had confided in, had trusted a great many of his secrets to.

He took a few steps back, his mind in tumbles, his breathing irregular. She still hadn´t noticed him and he was torn at what to do. Should he announce himself and face the unpleasant scene that would undoubtedly follow? His bitter disappointment prevented him for following on that course of action. He couldn´t face her just now. He couldn´t bear to see the same disappointment in her eyes and he wasn´t certain he possessed the amount of self-control at the moment to keep his temper in check.

It was after all insupportable. How was it possible that this wretched woman managed to interfere with his life again and again? He began to feel that no matter where he turned, he was doomed to collide with her. She had interfered with his life in the past, he had been forced to endure her presence in the hospital, she invaded his dreams and thoughts in the most inappropriate way… And now this. It was too much… He took another deep, steadying breath and then turned around, striding away with hurried steps.

A small part of him felt embarrassed for leaving her like this, for standing her up in this ungentlemanlike fashion. But for now it was all he could manage.

* * *

><p><strong>Please don´t hate Timothy… <strong>


	18. Chapter 17

_A/N: Cookie Moi made some wonderful Isobel/Wellington icons and one of them (look at my profile) fits this story perfectly. So here you go, the big, inventible, blow up scene… _

Chapter 17  
><strong>Through the grapevine <strong>

As Isobel stepped inside the ward to make her round she was greeted by a rush of whispers. Raising her eyebrows she watched as a few nurses stood huddled in a corner, talking excitedly in hushed tones.

´Have you heard, nurse Crawley?´ One of them asked.

´Have I heard what?´ Isobel asked, frowning now. This was exactly what Elsie called ´an atmosphere´ and she didn´t like it one bit either.

´They say Dr Wellington has been sacked from London Hospital because he stole money from the trust fund,´ the nurse replied, a glint in her eyes.

´What?´ Isobel exclaimed incredulous, looking around her. ´Who told you that nonsense?´

Faces fell and there was lot of muttered. ´I´m not sure… I just heard…´

´Well, isn´t this lovely,´ Isobel started sarcastically, putting up her sternest face. ´None of you know where these unfounded rumours originated from, but you are all too happy to spread them around.´

´We thought you´d be glad…´ one of the nurses interjected. ´Dr Wellington hasn´t been exactly nice to you.´

´That´s neither here nor there,´ Isobel exploded. She had been in a terrible mood for the past few days and if she was honest, this incident provided her with the excuse to finally blow off some steam. ´Dr Wellington is a respected physician at this hospital and, as such, your superior! You will not blemish his reputation with such vicious gossip!´

Turning on her heels, she slammed the door shut for good measure, hoping to have put an end to such idle talk. But as the morning progressed she found out the village was practically buzzing with stories, one more incredulous then the other. Apparently Dr Wellington had pillaged the London Hospital´s trust fund, bringing it to the brink of bankruptcy, had seduced every nurse in the city, sired an entire orphanage and had recently been exposed as the greatest medical charlatan of the century. She marvelled at where these stories had aspired from all of a sudden. That they found such ready ears wasn´t perhaps that surprising. Downton was a small village and not much ever happened, so every bit of news was a bit of an event.

She remembered how, during the first weeks after her arrival in Downton people had actually stopped in the street, barely bothering to hide the way they whispered about. Eventually, as the novelty had worn off, she had been able to go out without causing a stir everywhere she went, being ´the mother of the new heir of Downton´. Apparently the turn had now befallen on Dr Wellington to provide the diversion. She didn´t believe for a moment that any of the stories were true, but she wondered very much who had started them and what their design could be.

* * *

><p>That afternoon she had to sit through a board meeting in Richard´s office, together with the Dowager Countess. For once she was happy that Richard tented to get rather long-winded at events like this. She only had to nod every once in a while to indicate her support to what he was saying, while she could allow her thoughts to roam free.<p>

It had been five days now since the dreadful afternoon she had waited and waited in vain for her mysterious correspondent to appear. Her cheeks still tinged with shame as she remembered it. At first she had convinced herself that he was just running late. But after sitting on that bench for two hours, she knew that excuse didn´t hold ground anymore. Still, she had waited for another hour, until she finally relented, accepting grudgingly that he wouldn´t come. Once she had left, she had hurried home, hoping to find a message from him. There had been none. Then she had waited for the post eagerly every morning, hoping, expecting to receive a letter from him, explaining his absence. When yesterday morning, at her anxious look, Moseley had shook his head once again, she had conceded that he wasn´t going to write again. So she had taken her pen and written to him one last time. She´d taken the letter to the post office herself, trying to tell herself that it was over now and that she wouldn't waste another thought on it.

But this morning, despite her best intentions, she had again felt disappointed as Moseley´s silver tray only held a letter for Matthew. And as much as she tried to not think about it anymore, she found that Gregory occupied her thoughts most of the time. She wondered why he hadn´t come – had she been too forward in suggesting the meeting? Had she scared him away? Whatever his reason was for not keeping their appointment, she felt devastated at the thought of having lost a friend – for she had come to consider him as such over the past weeks. She had come to care from him and his regular letters had been one of the bright spots of the weeks. After having left Manchester so abruptly she´d had to struggle to build a circle of friends for herself again. She got along well with Richard, her friendship with Elsie was a godsend gift and her correspondence with Gregory had been coloured by a tingling sense of potential. Having the chance to get to know him better snatched away from her was rather a bitter pill to take…

She was just trying to catch on to what Richard was saying when the door of his office opened rather forcefully and Dr Wellington stormed in, his face filled with anger.

´Excuse me, your Ladyship, he said curtly, though barely glancing at the Dowager Countess. Instead he fixed his gaze on Isobel, his eyes blazing with barely supressed fury.

By now she was used to his scorn, to the inexplicable dislike on his face whenever he came across her. But this display of vehement resentment shocked her. He was shaking, his nostrils flaring and his hands clenched in tight fists and for one insane, fleeting moment she felt afraid of him. Some of that fear must have slipped into her voice, for it sounded rather breathless when she asked as calmly as she could: ´Dr Wellington… whatever is the matter?´

´Are you satisfied now?´ he practically spat at her. ´After all you´ve managed it again!´

´Oh my dear,´ the Dowager Countess muttered, her face brightening considerably. ´What have you done now?´

Isobel choose to ignore the remark and decided to concentrate instead on the furious man in front of her. ´I don´t know what you´re talking about,´ she answered, indignant herself now.

´Once wasn´t enough, was it?´ he hissed, advancing on her, very much like a predator would towards a prey. ´Just as I have managed to get my life back on track, you sweep in with your poison and ruin it again!´

´Can you at least tell me what is going on?´ Isobel shot back, her voice rising now as well. She had gotten to her feet, in an attempt not to feel so overpowered by him.

´Yes, please do.´ Violet chipped in.

´You know perfectly well what this is about,´ Timothy growled, a look that bordered on hatred passing over his face. ´You know bloody well what you have done… you knew all along.´

´Timothy…´ Richard had risen now too and placed a calming hand on the other man´s shoulder. ´Maybe you should consider what you are about to say next…´

The other man shrugged his hand off impatiently. ´She told them all what happened at London Hospital… the whole village is talking about it…´ Timothy´s voice was cold with disdain. ´Only she told them her own version. How it was me who robbed the funds… and was dishonourably discharged as a result!´

´What?´ Richard and Isobel exclaimed in unison.

Violet rested her chin on her hand, her eyes darting from the one to the other as if she was enjoying a particular entertaining matinée.

´Timothy, she couldn´t have known what happened in London,´ Richard started. ´You only told me and I swear, I never mentioned a word to Mrs Crawley… ´

´No… you didn´t,´ Timothy ran his hand through his hair, his voice tinged with bitterness. ´I, fool that I am, told her myself. I wrote her – her of all people, why I got dismissed from London Hospital.´

´When did you ever write to me?´ Isobel asked utterly astonished. She had never heard such a story from him. The last time London Hospital had been mentioned to her had been in Gregory´s letter… Then suddenly the pieces of the puzzle fell together and she gasped in shock. It couldn´t be… except that it was the only possible explanation.

´It was you? All that time… it was you?´ For a moment the room seemed to sway in front of her, the shock momentarily too great to handle. But Timothy was already raging on.

´Like you didn´t know! That advertisement… it was probably your design all along!´

´Design to do what? What did I ever do to you? Why do you hate me so much?´ Somewhere in the back of her mind, despite all the confusion and agitation, Isobel realised it felt good to finally be able to ask him this. After months of skirting around the issue.

´That clinic in Manchester…it was almost a reality. And you selfishly ruined it, with your lies and your manipulations.´ He lashed out the words to her, but somehow it all felt terribly wrong to him. For months he had let his anger and resentment fester inside him, nursing it until it had consumed his every thought. Now that he was finally able to confront her, to throw his accusation in her face, he thought it would feel like justice, like getting even with her. But it didn´t. Those large, brown eyes were looking at him in total bewilderment and despite her anger, despite the fact he recognized that she was getting rather worked up, her countenance betrayed that she had no idea what he was talking about. Her next words confirmed this.

´You… you think it was me… that I did that?´

During the long, heavy silence that fell between them he could see the wheels in her head turning, until her eyes widened in comprehension. ´You were one of Reginald´s friends back then! One of those he wanted to start the free clinic with!´

Had it been anyone else he would have fallen for her shocked expression, her feigned innocence. But this time he wouldn´t be drawn in. _She´s playing you,_ he told himself. _She´s as manipulative and cruel as she was thirty years ago._ So he struck again, knowing his next words were highly unfair, even before he spoke them:

´Why Reginald ever married you after what you did is beyond me!´

Her face turned deathly pale at his words and as her eyes became dark, he knew he had said something that had somehow cut her deeply.

´Don´t you dare to bring Reginald into this!´ Her voice was cold as steel and he shrank visibly.

He was spent. He had said his peace and instead of revelling in it, he felt empty and tired. The bite had left his tone, although the anger was still very present in his voice and his heartfelt words.

´Just go to hell!´

He turned around and left, leaving a ringing silence behind.

* * *

><p>Once the door had slammed shut with an almighty bang it was Violet who broke the silence first. ´Well, that certainly livened up this meeting.´<p>

Rolling his eyes, Richard turned to Isobel and guided her back to her chair. ´Are you alright?´ he asked worriedly.

´He actually thinks I´m responsible for that slander campaign against him – now and thirty years ago!´ Her voice sounded dazed, her mind still reeling with everything she had heard in the last few minutes. After having sat for only a few seconds, she got to her feet again and started to pace the room furiously.

´Well, he seemed to have an extended list of grievances against you,´ Violet interjected. ´What did you do to tick him of like that?´

Violet´s obvious attempt to trivialize the depth of Timothy´s anger only increased Isobel´s fury.

´That´s just it, I didn´t do anything to him,´ she cried out, her hands waving erratically. ´Goodness, I was still in school at the time!´

´Then what happened?´ Richard asked gently.

Isobel stood still, her mind filling in the blanks as she spoke. ´Prior to our marriage, Reginald was engaged to my sister Imogene. Reginald and two of his friends from university wanted to found a free clinic in Manchester for people who couldn´t afford to see a doctor. They had even found a benefactor who would finance their project. At the time I was still at school, but my father told me about it in his letters and I thought it was a marvellous idea…´

´Of course you did,´ Violet commented with a slight tilt of her eyebrow.

´But then suddenly the plan fell through and at the time I didn´t understand why… until a little while ago I received a letter from Dr Wellington – well, I didn´t know it was him at the time but I think I begin to understand now…´ Slowly combining the two stories together, Isobel felt her heart sinking.

´But why would Dr Wellington write you letters?´ Richard asked incredulously.

The silence that fell upon his words was one of the most awkward ones in her life and Isobel could feel her cheeks turn scarlet as she thought frantically of a reasonable explanation, anything that would prevent her from having to admit in front of Violet Crawley the true reason behind her correspondence with Dr Wellington.

But as it happened, fate had it in for her today, because the Dowager Countess smirked and remarked lightly: ´I believe Dr Wellington was shouting something about an advertisement just now.´

And then Richard caught on. ´That mad ad was yours!´ he exclaimed, his eyes boggling.

_Well_, Isobel thought, closing her eyes briefly, _at least it can´t get any worse than this_. So resignedly she answered. ´Yes, it was my ad. And apparently Dr Wellington responded to it, although I didn´t know it was him until now. We´ve been exchanging letters for some time now and we got along rather well…´ these last words were spoken with a great sense of amazement.

´I see… you never cease to amaze me with your undertakings, Mrs Crawley.´ Violet said drily.

Shaking her head, Isobel tried to pick up the thread of her story. ´He told me about his experiences in Manchester thirty years ago. Apparently the fiancé of one of the men wasn´t pleased with the idea of her husband becoming a philanthropically doctor. She spread rumours about the trustworthiness and credibility of the involved doctors and of one of them in particular and the benefactor pulled out.´

´And you think this fiancé was your sister Imogene?´ Richard asked .

Isobel nodded. ´She was engaged to Reginald at that time.´ Bitterly she added: ´And it does sound like something she would have done.´

´But why would Dr Wellington blame this all on you?´ Violet asked.

´My best guess is that he doesn´t know that Reginald ended his engagement with Imogene shortly after this incident and married her younger sister a year later. Me.´

´I think you´re right,´ Richard said, nodding slowly. ´It´s the one thing he kept going on about. How he couldn't believe Dr Crawley married his fiancé after what she had done to him. I suppose he had no idea that there were two sisters.´

Isobel rounded on him, her eyes wide with shock. ´You knew about this all along?´ she asked infuriated. ´You knew all this time why he disliked me so much and you never bothered to tell me?´

´Dear me…´ Violet muttered.

´Well…´ Richard began, looking uncomfortable. ´Timothy told me what happened and I promised him my secrecy…´

´Did you believe it?´ Isobel demanded. ´Did you believe I had done that to Dr Wellington – or to my late husband for that matter?´

´I… I… didn´t…´Richard stammered cornered. ´That is to say…´

´Save your breath,´ Isobel cut him off, shaking her head disbelievingly. ´I can´t believe you… either of you…´

´Isobel…´ Richard tried, spectacularly breaking decorum, but not caring one bit at the moment.

Feeling an overwhelming need to get out of his office, she packed her belongings and bolted to the door, the anger and hurt raging inside her.

´Dr Clarkson,´ Violet informed him after Isobel had left, rising to her feet and eyeing him coldly. ´I never thought it possible, but I must say, I heartily agree with Mrs Crawley.´

* * *

><p>´It was her sister…´ Timothy repeated defeated, leaning back in the chair of his desk, his eyes filled with horror.<p>

´What the devil have I done, Richard?´ he asked desperately as the enormous gravity of what his friend had told him began to sink in.

´It´s a right mess,´ Richard agreed, looking equally crestfallen.

´Is she very angry?´ Timothy asked quietly.

´She is,´ Richard admitted soberly. ´With the both of us, actually.´

´I can´t blame her,´ Timothy conceded. ´I´ve treated her abominably these past months… if I only think of what I said to her this afternoon… I should have known better, I should have told her…´

´Why didn´t you?´ Richard asked suddenly. ´I´ve always wondered about that. Why didn´t you confront her much earlier?´

´Because my case against London Hospital was still running,´ Timothy answered. My lawyer knew about what happened in Manchester and recommended that I kept silent about both incidents. That´s why I didn´t want you to tell anyone.´

´Speaking of London Hospital…´ Richard began thoughtfully. ´If it wasn´t Mrs Crawley who started the story, than who?´

Timothy shrugged absent-mindedly. ´I don´t know and to be honest… I don´t really care at the moment.´ The image of Isobel´s shocked, hurt face as he´d flung all those accusations at her stubbornly refused to leave his mind and he cringed as he remembered everything he´d said to her.

He leaned forwards, rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. ´I´ve messed it up,´ he groaned softly. ´I utterly messed up.´

* * *

><p><strong>I´m going to bake Isobel a big chocolate cake, would anyone like a piece as well? <strong>


	19. Chapter 18

_A/N: Here's chapter 18 for you. I'm sorry I haven't been around to respond to all your wonderful reviews, but I've been struck down with the flu and a massive throat infection (those of you who read my LJ have heard me complain about already) I tend to be a little more coherent during the evenings, so I'll try to be better with this chapter.  
>Anyway, more Isobel-backstory and a scene you might recognize again from 'You've got Mail' <em>

Chapter 18  
><strong>The final letter<strong>

He was trying to get most of his paperwork out of the way and doing a bit of hiding to be honest. After the catastrophic blown-up between Timothy and Isobel the atmosphere in the hospital was tense to say the least. He hadn´t seen much of Isobel in the last couple of days. Truth to be told he was avoiding her until he could be certain she wasn´t quite as angry with him anymore. Looking back he wished he had handled the situation more decisively, instead of trying to navigate between the two of them. From his occasional talks with Timothy he had learned that the two of them were avoiding each other altogether. His friend was feeling excessively remorseful, but rather at lost at how to make up for his behaviour.

A soft knock on the door shook him out of his reverie and he called out for entrance rather reluctantly. His face brightened somewhat though when Maureen Thornton stepped into his office, for once not adorned with a large postbag.

´Can you spare a minute?´ she asked tentatively.

´Of course,´ he replied getting to his feet and indicating his chair. ´Please, have a seat.´

Maureen shook her head. ´I won´t be long… I just wanted to inform you…´ she trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

´What´s going on?´ he asked, a hint of worry appearing in his voice now.

´I could be wrong…´ she started again, ´You should know that I have no proof whatsoever, but my suspicions are such…´ She paused again and bit the nail of her little finger nervously.

The small gesture caused a sea of memories to flood back to him and his heart to constrict painfully. He knew it so well, he had seen her done it so often. Whenever she was upset or doubtful about something she would bite that same nail. Right after their break-up he had realized that she had done a lot of nail-biting in the final months of their engagement, to the point where she had basically chewed away her nail at the end. He had wondered then if it had made a difference if he had asked her then what was on her mind.

´Please, just tell me what´s bothering you,´ he urged her softly.

Finally she looked up at him and answered him with a question. ´How long has nurse Hobbs been working here?´

He frowned at the unexpected question and did some quick calculations. ´Two and a half month now… she arrived shortly after Dr Wellington… why?´

´Did you know she is from London?´ Maureen asked, her face becoming even more alert.

´I did…´ Richard nodded. ´In fact, I discovered a while ago that she is a colleague from Timothy from London Hospital.´

´I knew it!´ Maureen exclaimed, starting to pace up and down the office. ´I knew she knew him prior to Downton…´

Richard decided to wait patiently until Maureen would enlighten him. Finally she turned around, her eyes flashing with excitement and anger.

´A while ago, as she came to the post office, we got to talk and she started to vent about Dr Wellington. There´s just no other word for it. If one listened to her, one would think he was the most disagreeable person on earth. I never understood her aversion, but I did found it odd that she disliked him so vehemently. A few days ago all these rumours were flying through the village about things he supposedly had done back in London… stories that supposedly had originated from Mrs Crawley…´

´That last bit is not true,´ Richard was quick to interject. ´Mrs Crawley had nothing to do with it.´

´Of course she hadn´t,´ Maureen replied immediately. ´She wouldn´t. But the question that remains is: who did?´

´You think it was nurse Hobbs?´ Richard asked carefully.

´I can´t think of anyone else…´ Maureen answered thoughtfully. ´She still writes and telephones to London very often.´

´Isn´t this supposed to be postal secrecy?´ he couldn´t help but tease her.

She blushed a little but shrugged then. ´I would hate to see a respectable man like Dr Wellington ruined by vicious rumours. Besides, I trust you enough to know you won´t tell on me.´

_She still trusted him enough_… for some reason those words moved him more then he cared to admit. Taking a deep breath to try and steady his suddenly frantic heartbeat he asked: ´But why? Why would she want to ruin Dr Wellington?´

´Do you know what happened to him in London?´ Maureen asked, looking at him quizzically.

´In confidence?´ he asked

´Of course,´ she nodded.

´He told the board of directors that a rather high-ranked person among them had been using hospital funding for his own personal benefits. Unfortunately this person had some friends in high places, so instead of him, Timothy was dismissed on account of malpractice and indecent behaviour.´

´How terrible for him,´ Maureen whispered aghast.

´It was,´ Richard nodded. ´This person was Sir Archibald Whiterstone. A while ago I discovered that he was the same person who had written nurse Hobbs´ letter of recommendation.´

Maureen gasped. ´That´s the person she´s been having telephone conversations with! I never told you this of course, but they are talking constantly.´

Richard smiled grimly. ´Thank you, Maureen. I intend on finding out exactly who has started these rumours. Too much harm has been done already by false stories and assumptions. And you´ve just given me a place to start looking for answers.´

It wasn´t until she was already on her way back to the postal office that Maureen realised he had used her name again for the first time in ten years.

* * *

><p>He had apologized to her. Thoroughly and sincerely. He has explained to her about his dealings with the clinic in Manchester and his ordeal at London Hospital last winter. She had known most of it already from his letters, but hearing him tell her made it more connected to him, Timothy Wellington. She often found it hard to believe that he and her Gregory were the same person. He had acknowledged that although this explained his behaviour, it did not excuse it and he had apologized again. She knew he meant every word and if she was honest with herself, she knew she couldn´t blame him his anger. What Imogene had done to him certainly deserved it. But it hurt – to know that she had once again been held responsible for something her sister had done.<p>

Something in the intense look in his blue eyes, in his ardent words, had told her this wasn´t merely about fixing a working relationship that had gone askew. There had always been more between them, although she was completely unable to identify _what._ It had been the reason why she had accepted his apology, even could forgive him his behaviour, but made her avoid him like the plague all the same. For some reason she couldn´t bear to be around him. Finally knowing his reason made her fully understand how deeply he had resented her and it unnerved her deeply.

Feeling rather hostile towards the hospital at the moment, she had readily agreed to meet Elsie for tea this Saturday afternoon, which was Elsie´s half day off. She had been surprised to discover she wouldn´t spend it with Charles, but as Elsie explained he had been obliged to go to Ripon to made some purchases for his Lordship.

´How are things between the two of you?´ she asked, observing her friend from over her tea. Even three weeks into their relationship, Elsie was still walking on air. If possible even more so than at the beginning.

´It´s wonderful,´ Elsie sighed. ´I honestly never expected it to be this wonderful… He just… he loves me so much,´ she added in a marvelled voice.

´Of course he does,´ Isobel grinned bemused. ´He´d be a fool not to.´

'I always thought I could be happy just being near him, be his friend and never let him know he meant so much more to me. But that I can tell him that I love, now that I can show him… I don't think I've ever been this happy,' Elsie said quietly.

Isobel had always liked Charles Carson, but seeing how happy he made her dearest friend certainly convinced her he was the best sort of man. 'I'm so pleased for you both,' she told Elsie quietly.

´Well,´ Elsie said, regaining somewhat of her usual down-to-earth character. ´How´ve you been? I can imagine the last few days must have rather stressful.´

´Don´t get me started…´ Isobel replied, rolling her eyes. ´I never thought…´ she continued somewhat bitterly. ´I never thought something Imogene had done would come back and hit me in the face at this time of my life, but there it is… and both Dr Clarkson and Dr Wellington were quite eager to believe the worst of me.´

´Well…´ Elsie started carefully.

´Dr Clarkson knew all along why Dr Wellington disliked me so much,´ Isobel spat furiously. ´And he didn´t do a thing to contradict him or to enlighten me about the reason.´

´It almost sounds as if you are more angry with Dr Clarkson then with Dr Wellington,´ Elsie observed surprised.

´Well, perhaps I am,´ Isobel answered, frowning deeply. ´I can understand why Dr Wellington behaved in the way that he did. If the circumstances had been reversed I would have probably acted in the exact same way. But that doesn´t mean I liked it. Or that it didn´t drive me almost mad trying to figure out what it was that caused his resentment. Or that I didn´t regret deeply that a person with whom I could have gone along fabulously if the situation had been different was determined to loath me. I always thought we could have been great friends if it hadn´t been for this foolish misunderstanding… if it hadn´t been for Imogene. He was my friend when we were writing letters to each other until he discovered who he had been corresponding with and couldn´t withdraw from me fast enough! Yes, I blame Dr Clarkson for not telling me earlier when he got the chance. Things could have been very different if he had!´

Somewhere along Isobel´s lengthy rant Elsie suddenly caught on and she barely could stifle the gasp this discovery brought her. Isobel´s apparent and misdirected anger at Dr Clarkson only revealed how deeply she regretted never having had Dr Wellington´s good opinion and how much she wanted it.

´You care a lot about what he thinks of you, don´t you?´ Elsie asked softly after Isobel was finally done. ´Dr Wellington,´ she clarified upon seeing Isobel´s startled expression. ´You care very much about his opinion of you.´

Isobel looked rather taken aback, but answered nevertheless, albeit hesitantly. ´I don´t know… I don´t know what I want him to think of me. I wish we could have just met and see how our acquaintance would have worked out. But now, because of Imogene… it doesn´t matter anymore, I´ll never know.´

´Why not?´ Elsie asked, sensing her friends distress, but unable to explain it.

´Because I don´t think I have to courage to face it all again,´ Isobel replied quietly, tears forming in her eyes. She took a deep breath and looked up. ´Promise me you won´t tell a soul…´

´I promise,´ Elsie answered. Smiling softly she added, ´I won´t even tell Charles.´

´Well, you can tell him,´ Isobel grinned, despite the tears that still brimmed. ´I don´t want to be the cause of any secrets between the two of you.´ Becoming serious again, she began to tell.

´You know Imogene was engaged to Reginald. They were betrothed for over a year after I came from school and returned home. I met him during a dinner party and… well, I think I fell in love with him on that first evening. I couldn't understand why he was with Imogene. He was intelligent and kind, incredibly dedicated and funny… quite the opposite from Imogene. But he was my sister´s fiancée, so it wouldn´t do to have feelings for him. I tried to avoid him as much as possible.

Their relationship wasn´t a happy one – I remember they argued and bickered all the way through Christmas and New Year and finally Reginald broke the engagement. Imogene remained rather impassive about it all. She quickly turned her attention to the bigger fish. I think I was more heart-broken about not seeing him daily anymore then she was. My father remained in touch with him and thus a few months after their break-up I met him again at the hospital library and a few times after that.

I´m embarrassed to say that I made my preference of him rather obvious,´ at this point Isobel blushed deeply and catching Elsie´s eye, both woman giggled for a minute. ´Well, what can I say?´ Isobel grinned. ´I was young and rather sure of myself and convinced he was the only man who could make me happy.

Eventually an understanding between us grew and we were married a year later. I thought I had everything my heart desired, but then the trouble only began. Reginald had been engaged to Imogene for almost a year and a half and apart from the clinic incident there had been countless small and big issues between them. Imogene didn´t only manipulate him to stop him from joining the clinic, she did it every chance she got. Reginald never knew when he could trust her and when not, so in the end he didn´t trust her ever. She had lied to him, she had lied to friends of his, she had modified the truth to suit her own purposes… I hadn´t known all this before our wedding, but once we were married I discovered he didn´t trust me either. He believed I was just like Imogene. He double-checked everything I did, hid things from me… Now I understand it was a logical thing for him to do. He was very young and inexperienced as well and he had been hurt a great deal by Imogene's antics, but back then…´

Isobel sighed deeply, the memories of those dark days washing over her like a dark wave. ´I was so hurt, believing that he didn´t trust me, ultimately thinking that he just didn´t love me. And you know me, I´m not the most patient of souls and I certainly wasn´t back then… I would become so angry with him. Which only made him withdraw from me more.

After the first year of our marriage we reached a point where I really thought…´ Isobel chocked up, tears streaming down her face all of a sudden. Taking hold of her hand, Elsie squeezed it reassuringly, wordlessly encouraging her to continue.

´I really believed we wouldn´t make it,´ Isobel resumed tearfully. ´We fought constantly and I just couldn´t seem to convince him that I did love him, that he could trust me.´

´So what happened?´ Elsie asked softly.

´We went to South Africa,´ Isobel answered, a smile appearing on her face. ´We dived in the adventure without really being prepared and once we got there and had to work under rather gruesome circumstances we simply didn´t have the time to argue anymore. South Africa gave me the chance to get away from Imogene and her influence and it forced Reginald to trust me, to turn to me, because there simply wasn´t anyone else he could turn to. And he discovered that he could, that I was different from Imogene.´

Wiping away her tears, Isobel smiled more fully now. ´South Africa made us as a couple. After that I never doubted his love for me again and he began to see me as an equal. We pulled through and became very happy. But oh that first year… I still have nightmares about it. It was truly the most trying time of my life.´

´I can imagine,´ Elsie answered earnestly. Still she wondered how this experience was related to Timothy Wellington. But before she had to trouble herself with trying to find a way to formulate that question, Isobel approached the subject herself.

´I don´t know exactly what I feel about Dr Wellington. Perhaps something could have been there, I don´t know. What I do know is that, whatever it was, it never had the chance to grow. And regardless of what he feels, and I don´t have an inkling about that, or what I feel or don´t feel… I don´t think I can do it again, involving myself with someone while Imogene´s shadow looms over us.´

Isobel sighed heavily, a tormented expression on her face. The sat together in compatible silence until Isobel said quietly: ´I´ve been thinking… Matthew is settled here now. He is happy… with his job, with his relations at the great house. He doesn´t really need me here anymore. Dr Clarkson and Dr Wellington can manage the hospital perfectly well without me and I don´t think Cousin Robert or Cousin Cora would mind terrible if I moved away… never mind the Dowager Countess…´

´What are you implying?´ Elsie asked worriedly.

´I still have some contacts in South Africa,´ Isobel answered. ´I´ve been writing to a nurse at a missionary clinic there… she´ll be retiring in a few months and she has asked me if I am interested in taking over her position. I hadn´t seriously considered it, until…´

´You are considering leaving Downton?´ Elsie asked horrified.

´Apart from you and Matthew I have very little what holds me here,´ Isobel explained. ´The hospital has always been my anchor in a way. I´m not looking forward to working alongside Dr Wellington when things are so strained between us, or Dr Clarkson for that matter. I haven´t really made up my mind yet, but yes, I am considering it very carefully.´

* * *

><p>The confrontation with Nurse Eileen Hobbs had been an ugly one. Timothy still felt his head pounding as a result. Richard´s office had once again been the stage of a very awkward and painful scene, not in the least – again- for Isobel.<p>

Richard had asked him, Isobel, and Maureen Thornton to be present when they had presented Miss Hobbs with the evidence against her. First she had denied any involvement in the spreading of the rumours, but when Richard had showed her the letter of recommendation, signed by Sir Archibald Whiterstone, her tone had become accusing as opposed to defensive. At one point she´d yelled at him: ´You got what you deserved, after trying to ruin Archie!´

It was then that Isobel had cut in, suddenly making sense of the situation. ´What is nature of the relationship between you and Sir Archibald?´ she had asked tentatively.

´There isn´t one,´ the girl had pouted almost childish, but her violent blush had betrayed her.

´Good grief, you are his lover,´ Isobel had muttered, before reaching out to the young woman. ´My girl, think of what you are doing. I can imagine you being taken in by such a powerful man, but there is no future for you there.´

He had been touched at her concern, but it had fallen on deaf ears. When it had looked like Isobel was about to take the brunt of Miss Hobbs' anger, he and Richard had shared a look between them and cut the woman off. Richard gave her her immediate dismissal and escorted her out of the room to get her personal belongings. After a brief look at him, Isobel had softly excused herself as well and now he found himself looking at the postal mistress.

´Are you alright?´ she inquired softly.

´I wish I´d known all this a week ago – or three months for that matter,´ he replied bitterly. ´I wouldn´t have blamed it all on Mrs Crawley.´

´Well, you couldn´t have known then,´ she tried to comfort him.

He shook his head, not quite knowing what to reply. Eventually he asked in a low voice: ´Have you ever felt like you would gladly give anything to undo a wrong you´ve done?´

A look of pain flashed briefly over Maureen´s face, but then she nodded. ´Yes… Yes, I have.´

He knew about her engagement to Richard and that it had been called off and he wondered if it was what she meant now. ´Does it ever go away?´ he asked gruffly.

Maureen sighed deeply. ´It depends. If it is something that concerns your heart and happiness, then no… it doesn´t go away. You only get used to the feeling.´ Shaking her head as if trying to clear her head, she reached inside her pocket and pulled out a brown envelope.

´I owe you an apology, Dr Wellington. This letter should have been delivered to you almost two weeks ago, but it got misplaced at the post-office.´

With a jolt he realized who the sender was and with an unsteady hand he took the envelope from her.

´Don´t worry about it,´ he said reassuringly. ´These things happen. I am glad to receive it though.´

He was glad – and incredibly anxious. What could she have written to him? The moment Maureen had left he tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Checking the date he realized she had written it a day after he had failed to show up for their appointment, when she still didn´t know who he was. Then his eyes digested the lines:

_Dear Gregory, _

_I was surprised when you did not come to Kirby this afternoon. Please do not get me wrong, I do not reproach you for anything. I confess I did feel disappointed, but after I got some time to consider it I am certain that there must have been a good reason that prevented your coming. You do not appear to be the sort of person who is fickle or unreliable. Still, I wished you were there. I very much looked forward to our meeting. _

_The danger that comes with writing to a person one has never met before is that there is always the chance one of them isn´t honest and tries to ´pull the wool´ of the other ones eye, so to speak. I just want you to know that in all these weeks of writing to you I never once felt you were not truthful to me. And for my part, I never felt I had to pretend. You may not know my name or any other relevant personal information about me, but still you know more about me than most people do. You made it so easy for me to be just myself and for that I am very grateful to you. _

_I hope we will have the change to meet again. Until then I hope you will continue to write to me. _

_Your friend,  
>Isobel<em>

He thought he couldn´t have felt more rotten about the situation then he already did, but after he read her letter he discovered a whole new depth to the word ´remorse.´ He had never been more keenly aware of what he had lost: a woman, a friend who had valued and trusted him. It suddenly became all too obvious to him how highly she had regarded him – well, at least the part of him she knew through his letters. And what he had ruined by his foolish outburst. Good grief, what had he been thinking? Hurling unjust accusations and mean insinuations at her in the presence of Richard and the Dowager Countess. From her letters he knew how difficult it had been for her to make a place for herself here at Downton and how much her work at the hospital had come to mean to her. He had made things so hard for her. And there was very little he could offer to excuse himself. He had been too proud and too stubborn to really look into the matter, he had let his anger and resentment get the better of him and it had caused him to lose the respect and friendship of a wonderful woman. Slipping the letter in his pocket he made his way outside, desperate from some fresh air to clear his head. Maureen´s words came back to him: ´…_If it is something that concerns your heart and happiness, then no… it doesn´t go away.´_ and he realized with an undeniable clarity that Isobel Crawley certainly embodied both.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, I'd love to hear what you think!<strong>


	20. Chapter 19

_A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, comments, PM´s. _

Chapter 19  
><strong>The telegram<strong>

Over the past few days he had seen very little of her. Realizing how uncomfortable it must be for her to be around him, he had kept his distance from her as much as he could. But this morning he had heard something - probably just idle gossip, he assumed - that he wanted to know for sure. Around this time he was sure to find her in the ward, the hour after noon was traditional resting hour and it would often find her sitting at the small desk at the end of the ward, filling out patient charts or the ward journal. Pausing in the doorway, he allowed himself a few quiet moments, to just watch her. Her back was perfectly straight as she sat at the desk, her head slightly tilted. The bright sunlight streaming through one of the tall windows playing across her hair, making it shine like gold. Sitting there like that, she reminded him for a moment of a Dutch painting.

The regret he felt was overwhelming. Now that he finally knew the truth, finally understood her innocence concerning the Manchester ordeal, it was too late. Too late to win her friendship, let alone her affections. Too late to act on the mountain of feelings she´d evoked in him. For he had finally acknowledged to himself that he had fallen in love with her – and fallen hard. And had done so almost the moment he´s first set eyes on her. Ultimately she was everything he wanted in a woman: smart, funny, caring and with a temperament that matched his own. And utterly beautiful to him. His remorse knew no boundaries and the most frustrating aspect was – he had realized this as he had laid awake for many hours in the past nights – that he should have known a long time ago. His heart had known all along that the woman who had put an end to the clinic thirty years ago, couldn´t have been Isobel Crawley. Every appearance, everything she´d said or done in the past months had contradicted it, but he had been blind to see it. If only he hadn´t been so stubborn, so unforthcoming about his personal affairs. If only… if only… had become the bitter refrain to the endless maelstrom of thoughts.

Taking a deep breath he crossed the ward to her desk and announced his presence by softly calling out her name. The moment she looked up her eyes acquired a guarded look and she got to her feet quickly. ´Dr Wellington, how can I help you?´ she asked, her voice strained.

Her aloofness was perfectly understandable, but it was so painfully different from the Isobel he´d known until this moment. He´d seen the warmth of her affection and the heat of her anger, but this coldness was so unlike her that it tore at him, knowing he had brought it all unto himself.

´I heard something this morning…´ he started awkwardly in a hushed tone as to not to wake the resting patients. ´Is it true that you are considering leaving for South Africa?´

´I assume this has been tittle-tattled all through the village already?´ she asked irritably, her eyes flashing.

´There has been some mentioning of it,´ he admitted, before boring his eyes into hers. ´Is there any truth in it?´

´I haven´t made up my mind yet,´ she answered reluctantly. ´But I am thinking about it, yes.´

´Because of what happened here?´ he asked rather redundantly.

She didn´t even bother to answer his question and shot him a dark look instead, her anger still apparent.

´Isobel…´ he started and as her eyes widened he realized his slip up and cursed himself inwardly. ´Mrs Crawley,´ he corrected himself, ´whatever you reasons may be, you should know that I have been offered a position in a hospital in Leeds. I will be gone within a month – sooner even if you wish it. There is no need for you to leave your home on my behalf.´

The cold expression in her eyes warmed up a fraction before she cast them down, her hands nervously toying with the pen she was still holding.

Acting on impulse, he reached out to take hold of her hand, stilling her movements, the action causing her to look at him again. Her hands were warm. They were always warm. ´I am so sorry,´ he told her quietly. ´If I could undo what I´ve done, how I´ve acted towards you in the past months… I´m sorry about walking out on you on our appointment and ruining our correspondence…´ The hurt in her eyes flared at his words, incensing his remorse further. Until now he hadn´t mentioned their letter exchange before, but after reading her last letter, understanding fully what he had lost because of his foolish, resentful behaviour, he wanted to acknowledge it at least in some way.

He had apologised before and felt he could be apologizing to her the rest of his life. And in a way she had begun to forgive him and would continue to do so, but it wouldn´t bring back what he had lost, what he had thrown away so carelessly: the friendship from their letters, their wonderful working relationship and the chance, now that he finally recognized her full value, to win her heart. ´If I could do it over again…´

She gave him a smile at that. A small, hurting smile, but a smile nevertheless. ´I know,´ she told him softly. ´I know you´re sorry and I can even understand why you acted in the manner you did. I know what Imogene is capable of.´ A slightly bitter tinge had entered her voice and she took a deep breath to get rid of it. ´I´m not just leaving because of you, but everything that has happened has made me realize that Downton is perhaps less my home than I want it to be. I need to be somewhere where I am useful and appreciated. Where I can make a difference.´

_´You made it so easy for me to be just myself…´_ That single line from her letter that had touched him the most came forcefully back in his mind, together with the realization that it was too late. Too late to show her how much he appreciated her, how much he valued her. How she made all the difference in the world to him. How just being herself was more than enough for him.

´Isobel…´ he began, his voice hoarse and dispensing with formality completely. He didn´t have a clue what he was going to say to her, but somehow the words came falling out: ´I don´t think you know just how much you are appreciated here, how much you´ll be missed…´

Regardless if she went or decided to stay, within a few short weeks he would leave and he was missing her already. Somehow he had begun to lean closer and he was starting to drown in her brown eyes. For a moment the world stopped as they stared at each other.

Then she took a step back, pulling her hand free from his grasp, the walls around her coming up impermeable again and he closed his eyes briefly in defeat until he heard her speak softly.

´I don´t yet know what to do, but thank you for telling me about Leeds. If I go, I want to go for the right reasons.´

He nodded, whishing he could give her a reason to stay with him. But there was only one thing left he felt he ought to resolve. ´Isobel…´ there really was no reason to pretend any longer, he reasoned. ´I know I have no right to make demands of you, but in the service of a friend I ask you… please let Richard off the hook?´

She frowned a little in confusion. ´Dr Clarkson?´

´I never told him much about what happened in Manchester,´ he explained hurriedly. ´I only told him the barest of details. And he has been trying to tell me again and again that you couldn´t have been to blame for what happened then, but I was too stupid to heed his words. He never believed you did anything wrong, but he berates himself for not telling you anything.´

´I wish he had,´ Isobel answered. ´I would have been able to understand.´

´I told him not to,´ Timothy replied, eager to dispel any trace of Richard´s involvement. ´The fault was mine and I hate to have cast a rift between the two of you. He thinks very highly of you.´

Isobel´s demeanour softened somewhat. ´I haven't seen much of him in the past few days,´ she said.

´He´s been out a lot,´ Timothy nodded. ´Visiting patients, walking the village, often in the general direction of the postal office.´ The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly at this last remark and he was pleased beyond words when Isobel gave a soft chuckle. ´I don't think Dr Clarkson spending some time at the postal office is necessarily a bad thing.´

´Indeed it isn´t,´ he agreed, grinning.

He had been alone for the most part of his life and although it was mostly by choice, the loneliness ate at him sometimes. He had resigned himself to the fact that he would probably remain alone for the rest of his life and tried to lay the vague fantasies of a wife and a home at rest. Since meeting Isobel these vague dreams had become more poignant. Suddenly the wife he dreamed of had a face, a name, a laugh. They could have been so happy together, he realized sadly as she returned to her patient cards and he walked out of the ward. If only…´

* * *

><p>Leaning against the counter desk of the postal office, Richard had just finished telling Maureen about Wellington being offered a position at Leeds hospital, concluding with a heartfelt: ´… as sorry as I am to see him go, I´ll be glad to have some peace and quiet at the hospital again.´<p>

´Is Mrs Crawley still angry with you?´ Maureen asked tentatively.

´Perhaps not exactly angry,´ Richard replied with a deep sigh. ´But she is rather unsettled, which is only understandable of course. I just wish I had been more open with her.´

´You barely knew anything yourself,´ Maureen pointed out, quick to come to his defence. ´Besides, it was Dr Wellington´s story to tell, not yours.´

´Even so,´ Richard replied darkly. ´Timothy will be leaving for Leeds, Mrs Crawley will probably go to South Africa, so I´ll might get all the peace and quiet I could hope for.´

Remembering their conversation about a week ago, Maureen felt sympathetic with them both. ´Dr Wellington is rather remorseful of his actions, is he not?´

´He is,´ Richard answered, the bothered expression never leaving his face. ´I think he would give his right arm if it meant he could do it over again once more.´

´Do you ever wish you could live your life backwards?´ Maureen asked suddenly, before she could even contemplate the wisdom of such a question.

´What do you mean by that?´ Richard replied, looking startled. ´What purpose could it serve to do that?´

´Start your life with everything you know now, everything you´ve learned after years of experience.´ Maureen started to explain hesitantly. ´Instead of having to make the most important choices of your life while you know absolutely nothing. At least you can avoid some of the mistakes this way.´

A long, tense silence fell between them, Richard wondering what – or rather who – she was talking about exactly and Maureen worrying if she might have said too much.

´Well, either way it is not possible.´ Richard finally broke the silence, his voice brusque. ´So we should be ready to make a choice at every given moment in life, with the knowledge we have at that moment.´ He paused for a second and then plunged on: ´The knowledge of what we want. Eventually we all have to make our choice and be held accountable for it.´

His words hurt. Justified as they were, they nevertheless stung like a blow would and Maureen felt the tears prickling behind her eyes. Some of the pain must have been clear on her face, because in a much kinder tone of voice he continued: ´´You´ve chosen what made you happy the most.´ He looked around the postal office, a wistful smile playing over his face. ´And you´ve made a success out of it.´

Not expecting a reply he tipped his hand to his bowler and left, leaving her standing there, staring after him with her mouth hanging open in shock.

Did he really believe she had left him because of a post office? She couldn´t believe it, but as she began to rewind the few encounters they had after their break-up – as she remembered the fateful night she had given him back his ring, she realized that she had never really given him a reason why she had ended their engagement. She had never told him about her doubts and fears. She had never told him that, as much as she loved him, she didn´t have a clue why he´d wanted to be with her.

It was only natural that he would have guessed at the real reason for her refusal to marry him, but to think he really believed he had been slighted in favour of a postal office… she just couldn´t bear the thought.

Over the past months they had grown closer into what may be called a tentative friendship. And although she assumed his feelings for her were long gone, she knew she owed him an explanation. He had a right to know why she had turned him down all those years ago. The question that remained was, how was she ever going to tell him?

* * *

><p>After her talk with Dr Wellington Isobel had made a point of giving Dr Clarkson a heartfelt greeting the next morning, indicating that, as far as she was concerned, their spat was over. In the days that followed they gradually fell back in their familiar routine.<p>

One early evening found them at his office, discussing a patient´s case when they were disturbed by a rather frantic knocking on the door. After the call for admittance was issued , Maureen came bursting in the room, looking extremely worried. ´Is it true that Dr Wellington went to Kirby this evening?´ she asked, not even bothering with a greeting.

´Yes it is,´ Richard replied confused. ´He left late afternoon in his car to pick up some supplies. I´d expected him back by now, to be honest… why do you ask?´

´A telegram just came,´ Maureen started and Isobel felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. ´Here, read it yourselves.´ She took a bit of greyish paper from her coat and handed it to Richard, Isobel reading it along with him.

_Car accident Kirby. Stop. Wellington involved. Stop. Condition severe. Stop. Assistance required. Stop. _

Isobel felt herself turning cold with anguish. ´Good God…´ she stammered. Imagines started to form in her mind and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn´t push them down. Her stomach clenched and she could feel the bile raising in her throat. What had happened to him?

´Right,´ Richard began, snapping into action at once. ´I´ll take the ambulance to Kirby, Mrs Crawley, you stay here, in charge of the hospital.´

´I want to come too,´ Isobel replied immediately, pulling herself up to her full height.

´No!´ Richard dismissed her, his tone authoritative. ´I need someone to remain here and I need the surgical room prepared. If possible I want to get him back here to treat him.´

Grudgingly admitting he was right, Isobel nodded reluctantly, her worry increasing with every passing second.

She found the postal mistress looking imploringly at her ´Are you alright? You are as white as a sheet.´

´I´m fine,´ Isobel answered quickly, waving her hand to dispel the other woman´s worry. But to her dismay she found that her hands were shaking.

´I´ll go back to the postal office,´ Maureen offered, ´as soon as there´s news, I`ll inform you at once.´

Within minutes the ambulance was pulled up in front of the hospital and Richard was on his way. Looking once again at Isobel´s distressed face, Maureen left as well. But after doubting her course of action for another second she started to walk, not in the direction of the postal office, but of the Grantham Estate.

Charles and Elsie were in sitting at a desk in her parlour, going over some household accounts. Ever since the start of their relationship these little encounters were even more enjoyable then before. They still – dedicated as they were to their profession as always – managed to get their work done, but they were sitting decidedly closer together, hands brushing regularly, their legs snugly pressed together underneath the desk.

´If the painting goes as planned, the floors of the dining room should be ready before the family returns in a fortnight,´ Elsie was saying, just before they were interrupted by knock on the door.

For propriety's sake, they put some distance between them before the door opened to reveal Anna. ´Mr Carson… Mrs Hughes… Miss Thornton is here to see you.´

Looking quizzically at Charles, Elsie rose to her feet. What could she want at this time in the evening?

The postal mistress´ face looked flushed as if she had been walking on a swift pace and here voice sounded a little out of breath as she began: ´I´m sorry to disturb you, but a telegram was just delivered at the hospital. Dr Wellington has been in a car accident and his situation is very critical.´

Purely on instinct, Elsie reached out to grab Charles´ hand, feeling his fingers tightening around hers, while her other hand came up to cover her mouth in horror. ´Good heavens…´

´Dr Clarkson is on the way to Kirby now with the ambulance and Mrs Crawley is still at the hospital, but she is…´ Maureen faltered, not sure how to phrase the next words. ´She could use a friend.´

´You should go and be with her,´ Charles said immediately and Elsie was sure she had never loved him more than in that moment.

A look of relief washed over Maureen´s face before she turned around hastily. ´I need to go back to the postal office in case more telegrams arrive, but thank you!´

The moment Maureen was gone, Charles drew her in his arms¸ holding her tightly against his chest.

´Oh Charles, what if he doesn´t pull through?´ Elsie said quietly, her voice wavering dangerously.

´Shh…,´he whispered soothingly into her hair. ´We don´t know what happened yet and Richard is on his way… ´ he was trying to comfort her, just as holding her was a great comfort to him. He kissed her brow softly before straightening up and turning into the formidable butler, adept in handling crisis situations.

´I´ll tell Branson to drive you to the hospital and to remain there,´ he started. ´If you need to stay at the hospital overnight, he can come back for your things.´

His practical words roused her into actions and she stepped back from his arms and nodded fervently. ´I think that will be best. At any rate, Isobel shouldn´t be left alone this evening.´

He took her coat from the hanger on the door and helped her in it, then handed her her hat and gloves. ´If there´s anything you or Mrs Crawley need, just send Branson out,´ he told her.

Standing on her tiptoes, she cradled his face between her hands and kissed him warmly. ´I love you so much,´ she whispered against his lips.

She found Isobel in the surgical room, furiously sterilizing an assortment of instruments she had no desire of ever finding out its purposes. ´Isobel… How are you?´ she asked softly.

´Elsie!´ the determined mask slipped for a second and Elsie could see the fear on her friend´s face. ´What brings you here?´

´Miss Thornton came to tell us about the accident,´ Elsie explained. ´We assumed you´d rather not be alone right now.´

´I´m fine…´ Isobel started. ´Really… I´m just…´ At Elsie´s disbelieving stare she shut her eyes tightly as the tears suddenly threat to spill.

When she opened her eyes again, Elsie was shocked to see they were filled with pain and heart-ache. ´I´ve been such an idiot,´ Isobel said quietly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. ´Such a classic fool…´

The silence hung between for long seconds, until Isobel admitted hoarsely. ´I should have told him when I had the chance, but I wasn´t sure…´

´Oh Isobel…´ Elsie´s voice was filled with empathy.

Despite her best efforts, Isobel couldn´t help the single tear that trickled down her face. ´I´m in love with him.´

* * *

><p><strong>*Folds up the rug* <strong>

**If I don´t manage to upload another chapter before then: Happy Christmas and enjoy the Christmas Special!**


	21. Chapter 20

_A/N: This chapter is not yet beta-read, but I felt I couldn´t leave you all hanging for much longer. There´s a teensy bit of ´Sense and Sensibility´ in it and Viviane makes another appearance. If you´re curious to find out what she looks like, have a look at my LJ. (also MissPuppet)  
>Perhaps you´ve also noticed my brand-new RichardMaureen icon, made by cookie-moi.  
>Since this chapter does a lot of POV-switching I´ve tried to format it in such a way that it´s more easily recognizable.<br>As soon as a paragraph does this, it means the POV has switched. _

Chapter 20  
><strong>The aftermath<strong>

Two hours dragged on as Elsie assisted Isobel with the preparation of the surgical room and every other little chore Isobel manage to think of just to keep herself occupied. They didn´t talk much after Isobel´s confession, but as Elsie watched her friend while she was winding up a sheer endless supply of bandages, she noticed the signs of strain on her face.

Around half past ten a car could be heard on the driveway of the hospital and Isobel tensed visibly. ´I think that´s the ambulance,´ she said quietly, making her way towards the hallway. As Elsie followed her she could hear the sound of hurried footsteps on the gravel and the front door swinging open. Once inside the hall, the tall, somewhat dishevelled looking, but very healthy form of Timothy Wellington was advancing on them and Elsie almost collided into Isobel as she abruptly stopped dead in her tracks, staring wide-eyed at the man in front of her.

For a brief moment Elsie thought Isobel was going to break down and throw herself into his arms – she made a shaky movement as if she would, but then she managed to grab a hold of herself, quite literally, her arms coming around herself as if she was physically trying to stop herself from pounding on him. However, she couldn´t keep herself from crying out his name, her voice a mixture of shock and relief.

´Timothy!´

It seemed as if the voice came from someone else. Surely it couldn´t be her in such a high-pierced, almost hysterical voice? She, who had always prided herself on her capability of keeping calm during any situation? But he was standing there in front of her, looking rather dishevelled in only his shirt and waistcoat, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and ripped at the shoulders and his hair a ruffled mess, but at least standing, breathing and very much alive. The overpowering need to hold him, to not only see but feel that he was alright and in one piece almost overtook her. She just barely stopped herself from doing anything rash and overly emotional and continued to gaze at him, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

The shock of the accident, his frantic attempts to get two men out of the wreckage that was left of the car, Richards´ arrival with the ambulance and their joined effort to stabilize the two patients – of which one was very critical and the hurried drive back to Downton had left him pumping with adrenaline.

When he´d walked in he had been a flutter of excitement, his pace fast, his eyes blazing and his gestures erratically. But then she was suddenly in front of him and as soon as he took in the sight of Isobel´s pale face and wide eyes, he froze as if he were unsure how to react. Something was amiss, it was apparent from the panic-stricken look on her face and for a second he wondered wildly if there had been another accident of some sort. Something that had happened to her – or to her son. Worry gripped his heart and for a few moment he had difficulty focusing on what she was saying.

´The telegram…´ Isobel managed eventually. ´It said you were badly injured in a car accident…´ How was it possible that he was standing here safe and sound when the telegram had been so chillingly clear?

´I was driving into Kirby when an opposing car advanced on me with some considerable speed,´ he explained. ´He tried to avoid me, but hit a tree instead. The chauffeur is the one who was badly injured and there was a passenger in the car as well. Richard is bringing them in with the ambulance in a few minutes to treat them.´

They were staring at each other as if they were seeing each other for the first time and Elsie thought wryly to herself that she could drop stone dead on the floor and they wouldn´t notice a thing, so enthralled they were with each other. Isobel gazed at him, still battling furiously to keep her emotions in check, while he looked slightly bewildered as if he was trying to understand the reason for her behaviour.

´Then… you… you are alright?´ she asked breathlessly.

´I´m fine,´ he nodded gently. ´I´m absolutely fine.´

Isobel made a strangled noise, a sob finally escaping her throat. Without saying another word she turned around and practically ran back into the surgical room, leaving Elsie and Timothy behind, the latter with a look of utter shock on his face. After a few moments he looked rather helplessly at Elsie.

´The telegram wasn´t very clear,´ she clarified. ´Isobel´s been led to believe that it was you who was severely injured in the accident and it… upset her.´

His eyes flashed at her words, darting between her and the door of the surgical room Isobel had just disappeared behind. ´It did?´ he asked unsteadily.

´Yes. Very much,´ Elsie replied simply. Her anger at him because of the treatment of her best had clouded her judgement of him for a long time, but seeing the look of astonished relief on his face now, made her relent a bit. He may have acted abysmally towards Isobel, but there was no denying that he cared for her – probably as much as she cared for him.

Moments later Isobel returned from the surgical room, already adorned in a white apron and she handed Wellington his white coat. ´The room is prepared,´ she told him, her tone almost perfectly calm and composed again.

You had to hand it to her, Elsie mussed, Isobel Crawley possessed an amount of self-control Charles would have approved of.

The next minutes passed in a blur of activity. The ambulance arrived and two men on stretchers were carried in, followed by Richard who was frantically shouting instructions. Wellington immediately rushed over to the stretcher that held the most injured man, Isobel close behind him. Together they checked his vital signs while Richard instructed a few nurses to take the other man to the small treatment room. Elsie stepped back carefully as to not be a disturbance and watched the scene in front of her with interest.

´He has severe internal bleeding,´ Wellington was saying. ´We have to act quick, otherwise he is going to collapse.´

´Will you and nurse Crawley manage?´ Richard shouted back. ´I´ll see to this man then.´

Wellington gave Isobel one, questioning look and she nodded eagerly. With the barest of smiles on his face, Wellington replied: ´We´ll manage! Let´s get him inside.´ And while the man was being carried into the surgical room, Isobel was already busy cutting open his clothes.  
>Seeing her amidst this buzz of activity, Elsie suddenly understood better than ever before what she meant when she said she couldn´t content herself with a cushioned life of taking morning calls and hosting tea parties.<p>

She was shaken out of her thoughts when Dr Clarkson approached her. ´Mrs Hughes,´ he said hurriedly, ´Would you be so kind as to inform Miss Thornton of the outcome… I wouldn´t want her to worry.´

´Of course,´ Elsie reassured him, touched by his concern. ´I´ll go directly.´

* * *

><p>After she had told Maureen that Dr Wellington was alright and that he and Dr Clarkson had returned safely to the hospital, Branson drove them back to Downton. The house, including the servants quarters were dark already and Elsie assumed most had gone to bed. Carefully turning the key in the lock of the servant´s entrance as to not to disturb anyone, Elsie stepped into the servant´s hall and made her way quietly through the dimly-light corridors to her sitting room. Pushing the door open without making any sound she was greeted by the most adorable sight. Her cat was stretched out length-wise over the sofa while a giant of man stood behind the sofa, desperately trying to make it move.<p>

´I know Elsie is very fond of you,´ he was grumbling softly, ´but I very much doubt she would allow you to sleep on the sofa in this fashion.´  
>When the cat made no attempt to move whatsoever and only yawned in response he gingerly poked it with one finger.<br>´Come on… get off…´

The cat still didn´t react in the slightest. His brow frowning in concentration, he thought for a moment and eventually said: ´Look over there, a mouse!´

She had been able to watch the interaction very quietly until that moment. Then she just burst into laughter, alerting him to her presence. The relief on his face was unmistakable. ´Elsie, you´re back!´

Making her way over to the sofa, she picked up Viviane and placed her carefully on the armchair. ´You know what?´ she told the cat, still smiling. ´From now on you can sleep here.´

Turning around she found that Charles was already very close by and happily she wrapped her arms around his neck. ´Dr Wellington is perfectly alright,´ she told him softly. ´Two other men were injured, but they are being treated now at the hospital.´

´Thank goodness,´ he muttered, before pulling her close and kissing her gently. Her response to his kiss was rather more passionately and by the time she pulled back they were both breathless. ´What was that for?´ he asked quietly, caressing a strand of hair that had come lose away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

´Nothing in particular,´ she sighed. ´I´m just happy that I´ve got you to come home to.´ One of his hands came up to cup the side of her face, his fingers disappearing in her hair and this time he kissed her thoroughly, exploring every inch of her mouth, before he whispered huskily ´I love you,´ against her lips. They stood there for a few moments, their arms around each other, just enjoying being able to do so, before Charles drew back a little. ´I´ve made a fresh pot of tea twenty minutes ago…´

She flashed him a smile. ´You´re a life saver. After all the drama at the hospital…´

´How was Mrs Crawley?´ Charles asked, pouring two cups of tea, while Elsie removed her hat and coat and hung them away. By the time she returned, Charles was already sitting on the sofa and she curled up against him.

´I´ve never seen her so upset,´ she answered thoughtfully. He shifted slightly so that she was able to rest against him more fully and he slid his arm around her waist, gently rubbing his hand up and down her back. ´She cares far more about Dr Wellington than she wants to admit, but only faced with the reality that he could have been severely injured, or even dead made her realize it. And then, just as she was prepared for him to come in, all bruised and wounded, he walks in, healthy as ever.´

´That must have been quite a shock for her,´ Charles observed.

´She managed to compose herself, but she was very shaken,´ Elsie replied. ´He seemed a little distracted as well.´ Tilting her head back, she looked up at Charles. ´Do you think the revelations of the past weeks have altered his opinion about her a great deal?´

´No,´ Charles replied drily, ´he´s already been enamoured with her for months.´

´What?´ Elsie exclaimed. ´Whatever gives you that idea?´

´For all his talk of disliking Isobel Crawley so much, he seems to be mentioning her a lot,´ Charles explained. ´He seems to be rather fascinated with her and I´ve always wondered if that was only out of dislike.´

´You´ve mentioned something like that before,´ Elsie mussed, idly tracing patterns over his chest with her fingers. Since he had already took off his jacket and waistcoat before her arrival, she could feel the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart through his shirt.

´However, what I don´t understand,´ Charles´ deep voice rumbled above her head. ´is why Mrs Crawley seems to care about him so much after the way he behaved to her.´

Elsie chuckled. ´Can you keep a secret?´

Instead of making a vocal reply, he lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. Charles always maintained he wasn´t curious, but merely liked to be well-informed. While one of his hands was still on her back, the other started to remove the pins from her hair.

Still grinning, Elsie began to tell. ´I´m sure you remember the advertisement you placed in ´the Woman´s Magazine´? ´

He nodded and grumbled a little. ´What of it?´

´Well,´ Elsie continued, ´what I never told you is that Isobel had posted an advertisement in that same issue as well.´

´Surely you´re joking!´  
>It didn´t happen often that Charles Carson sat rooted in shock, but in this case, she had certainly managed it, Elsie thought with some satisfaction.<p>

´I wouldn´t dare,´ she giggled. ´That´s how I came across your advertisement in the first place, because Isobel brought her copy around to show her ad.´

´Unbelievable…´ Charles muttered, still astonished. Then he frowned. ´Wait a second… which advertisement belonged to Mrs Crawley? It wasn´t by any chance a somewhat…´ he paused to search for an appropriate term, ´… peculiar phrased one?´

By then Elsie was shaking with silent laughter against his shoulder. ´You can say it – the ad was sheer insanity. And yes, it was Isobel´s.´

´What on earth possessed her to write an ad like that?´ Charles asked incredulously. By now he had finished removing all the pins from her hair and he ran his hand across the soft strands, allowing them to spill freely over her shoulders, framing her face. With his hand buried in her hair he listened with growing amusement.

´She didn´t write it, I did,´ Elsie confessed.  
>If possible he looked even more shocked than before.<p>

´A few months ago Isobel asked me over for tea and she told me about her plans to post an advertisement. She asked me for help composing one. At first we joked around a bit and that was how that crazy ad came about. Later we thought of a more composed and appropriate one. However, Isobel accidently send in the first ad, which got posted in the same issue as your ad was. What I never understood…´ she continued frowning, ´what made Dr Wellington write to that ad? It seems so unlike him.´

´Oh, I think I can answer that,´ Charles replied, somewhat distracted. A while ago Elsie had kicked off her shoes and now she was running her stocking-clad feet up and down the calves of his legs. Trying to concentrate on her question instead of the sensations she was creating for him, he continued. ´He´d lost a bet with Richard. You see, when Richard wanted to write to the ad, Timothy said he thought it was a very foolish idea and dared him to find someone who thought it was a smart plan.  
>So naturally, Richard asked Moseley.´<p>

Elsie dissolved in laughter, quickly joined by Charles. ´I´m willing to bet he was wildly enthusiastic.´

´Timothy never stood a chance,´ Charles chuckled. ´Well, as a result he had to write to the ad. He never said much about it, but I got the impression that he didn´t stop after writing one letter and that he liked the woman a great deal more than he had anticipated. Of course that makes perfect sense if that woman is Isobel Crawley. Have they really been exchanging letters all this time?´

´They have,´ Elsie nodded. ´And Isobel was really taken by her mysterious correspondent. I think she was never really adverse to Dr Wellington to begin with, only very puzzled by his behaviour. But she fell in love with the man she was writing with.

´Writing to someone can provoke some powerful feelings,´ he told her seriously, stroking her face tenderly.

She kissed him softly on the lips, but pulled back before he could deepen the kiss. ´But you didn´t fell in love when you wrote to me, did you?´ she asked softly.

He shook his head and shifted slightly, so that she was now safely tucked away between the hem of the sofa and his body. ´But when I wrote to you I fell in love with you for the second time… even though I´d loved you a long time before that.´

´Really?´ she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

One of his hands tangled itself in her hair again. ´When you came to Downton, the ´years of stupidity´ had only been a little while ago and I was terrified of being found out and exposed for the fool I´d been…´

She pulled his head down and kissed him lovingly. Then, resting her forehead against his´ she said very determinedly: ´You are not, nor were you ever, a fool. And I´m going to tell you again and again until you believe me.´

He gave her that look she´d seen before, the one he gave her when he knew she was right, but didn´t quite agree with her yet. But his arms tightened around her and his voice became even deeper with emotion. ´I tried to convince myself that my work was more than enough for me. And that I wasn´t at all affected by the beautiful head housemaid who quickly got promoted to housekeeper. But I was… I very much was. I always say that I found my purpose at Downton again and I did, but it was mostly because of you. You´ve become my compass and I´d be lost without you… I love you so much, Elsie…´

She was biting her lower lip to stop it from trembling, but it was to no avail. Soon there were tears trickling down her face and as he leaned in to kiss them away tenderly she held on to him tightly, whispering she loved him too.

* * *

><p>Time was of essence and the severely injured man lying on the table had precariously little of it. So as soon as Isobel had administered the chloroform and had ascertained that the patient was unconscious, Timothy ran his scalpel across the man´s abdomen to reveal his internal wounds and barely a second later, Isobel had attached two sleek clamps to either side of the cut and pulled the skin apart to give him as much access as possible. Blood came pouring out of the cut, indicating a severe bleeding somewhere inside the body. Noticing the flow of blood, Isobel moved a little to the left and Timothy´s eyes widened in recognition. ´It´s his spleen!´ he exclaimed. ´Quickly!´<p>

But Isobel had already switched one of the clamps for one that was used to close off veins. The bleeding lessened somewhat and Timothy took a few moments to examine the organ. ´It´s torn…´ he said eventually. ´If we´re quick enough we can take it out before he loses too much blood.´

´His blood pressure is low,´ Isobel said, checking his vital signs, ´He has already sustained severe external injuries, so we need to hurry.´

´Alright, I´ll take out the spleen, you´ll tie off the veins and check for other bleedings,´ Timothy decided quickly. They worked steady on for a while, their movements almost synchronically. Finally Timothy leaned back and surveyed the wound.

´I don´t think there´s any more internal bleeding,´ Isobel said. ´It looks like the spleen was the culprit.´

Timothy nodded. ´Let´s close him up and hope he hasn´t lost too much blood already. It´s bad luck for him that he had to be moved here first. Now only plenty of bed rest can help him.´

His eyes roamed over the large clock hanging on the wall and he broke out in a wide grin. ´Just look at that,´ he pointed out.

´What is it?´ Isobel asked confused.

´It´s only twenty-five minutes past eleven,´ he told her. ´We started the surgery a little over eleven.´

´Really?´ Isobel asked in surprise. She tended to lose track of time whenever she was fully concentrated on a medical procedure, but this fast pace was rather astonishing.

She looked at his beaming face, noticing again how attractive those dimples were. Inwardly she shook her head. _No, Isobel,_ she told herself sternly. _Just no._  
>Realizing she was gaping at him somewhat, she said the first thing that came to her mind: ´He still needs stitches.´<p>

While Timothy took care of the wide gap across is stomach, Isobel checked and cleaned the numerous cuts and scrapes across his body. He was finished more quickly than she was and stepped out to see if there was a bed in the ward ready and if Richard was already finished with the other patient.  
>Finally she´d finished stitching the last gash across his brow, just when Timothy returned again, already cleaned up and out of his surgical gear.<p>

´I´ve arranged for one of the nurses to bring him to the ward, so you can get cleaned up. The other man is already asleep. He had a broken leg and some minor injuries.´

The faint metallic smell that came from her blood-covered hands always made her stomach go a little wane, so she nodded gratefully. ´What do you think?´ she asked quietly, indicating the man on the treatment table with a nod of her head.

´He has a good chance of making it,´ Timothy replied. ´A really good chance. We´ve done the best we could.´

At that moment two nurses entered the surgical room to take the man away and as Timothy started to give instructions, Isobel stepped into the small washroom connected to the surgical room. Putting on the warm water tap she let it stream over her wrists and hands and thoroughly scrubbed them with hard soap. It took a while before all the stains were gone, but finally her hands were clean again. Carefully she pulled of her apron and put it in the hamper before she took a cloth to dry her hands.

Just then the door opened and Timothy walked in.  
>´Is the patient stable?´ she asked smiling.<p>

He nodded enthusiastically and handed her a jar of crème. ´They´ve put him in the ward and he is sound asleep. If he makes a good night, I´m very optimistic about his chances to recover.´

He was practically bouncing, she noticed to her amusement. She recognized the behaviour in herself, despite the late hour she felt equally energized by the good outcome of the operation. His next words however shocked her to her core.

´You were amazing, Isobel.´

The silence after his sudden declaration was a ringing one. And despite it all, he couldn´t bring himself to regret his words.

The adrenaline was still flowing to his system, but apart from that, the past hour had been some sort of a revelation to him. Never in his life he had worked together with someone who completed him so perfectly as she did. It felt as if he had been given an extra pair of hands. She seemed to read his mind, her actions anticipating his next move and he knew for certain that the fast-paced surgery they had just performed had only been the curtsey of this exceptional collaboration between them.

He was leaving for Leeds within three weeks' time and once he was gone, he would probably never see her again. And suddenly the thought of losing her was unbearable to him.

He took a few steps closer towards her. ´Isobel…´ His voice was laced with pend up emotion, but as soon as he said her name his mind went blank and found himself clueless as how to continue.

Her heart was pounding. He was standing close – not so close that he was already in her personal space, but close enough that she could feel the air between them starting to tingle. After all these months of fighting her attraction to him and trying to deny the effect he was having on her, she was first and foremost relieved when she felt his hands on her waist, pulling her close.

He caught her bottom lip between his and stroked it gently with his tongue, holding on to the last bit of restraint he possessed to give her the chance to pull away if she wished to. But when she only moved closer to him, her hands coming to rest on his chest, he almost groaned in relief, tightening his grip and pulling her flat against his body, his lips claiming hers her fully now. When she began to respond to him, her hands moving into his hair as if she were trying to prevent him from moving away, he finally allowed the passion he´d been suppressing for so long to take over.

Isobel was losing herself in the sensation of being thoroughly kissed by him. Her fingers savoured the silky texture of his hair as she tried to hold on to something. She felt the pressure of his hands, gripping her waist tightly, the insistent stroke of his thumbs, rubbing in circles across her sides, while he explored her mouth, tasting, caressing until her head was spinning.

When the need for oxygen finally became too pressing he released her mouth, but continued to hold her, his arms coming up around her, pulling her even closer. He trailed soft kisses across her brow, her temple, down over her cheek until his lips captured hers again. This time his kiss was slow and deep, causing her to melt against him, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as he gently caressed the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, causing her to sigh into his mouth.

When he broke away for the second time he hesitantly met her eyes. The sight of her trying to catch her breath, her face flushed, her lips red and slightly swollen and her eyes shining, almost made him want to pull her close again, but he resisted and waited for her to speak the first words, to make the first move.

She bit her lower lip subconsciously as if she was trying to reach a decision, then she rested her head against his shoulder, her arms slipping around his neck.

His arms around her back and waist held her securely, his chin resting on the top of her head. ´I love you,´ he told her, breathing in the scent of her hair.  
>She didn´t say a word, just remained perfectly still in his embrace.<p>

´I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,´ he continued. ´And I tried to ignore it, letting my stupid anger and resentment get the better of me… but I should have known. I should have known you weren´t the same person as the woman who put an end to the clinic…´

´You couldn´t have known that,´ she murmured somewhat distracted. Her feelings were a jumble. After this wonderful kiss she knew even more certain than before that she was in love with him. And after an evening of worrying about his safety, thinking that he could very well be deathly injured, feeling his arms around her finally convinced her that he was here and that he was alright. It was wonderful to be held again like this to begin with. But she couldn´t shake of the lingering feeling of doubt and insecurity. He said he loved her and she believed him, but the fact remained that he had also loathed her for what he´d supposed she had done.

´I am so very sorry for the way I´ve acted,´ he told her once again, his voice heavy with remorse.

This made her look up at him at last. ´I know you are,´ she said, almost reassuringly. ´And I don´t really blame you. I know the havoc Imogene could create to everyone who dared to stand in the way of her ambitions. As far as I´m concerned, that´s not even an issue anymore…´

´Then what is it?´ he asked gently.

´I… I´m not quite sure how to put this,´ she whispered with difficulty.

´I think you´ve earned the right to tell me whatever you want to say to me,´ Timothy said with a wry smile. He was starting to feel more and more nervous, but as long as she didn´t attempt to move away from his arms, he continued to hope.

She gave a little smile and then looked down, studying the buttons of his shirt with vigour. ´Please don´t think that I don´t believe you when you say that you love me,´ she started. ´But the fact remains that you have disliked me a great deal for the last few months as well… your image of me is shaped by the way you think of Imogene and that leaves me feeling apprehensive, to be honest.´ She looked up in his eyes again, seeing him process her words.

Had it not been for her letters, he wouldn´t have understood what she just said. But from her letters he knew how important it was for her to be recognized for herself as opposed to the part she was supposed to play and he slowly nodded his head in understanding.  
>´Why don´t we take it slow then?´ he suggested. ´Get to know each other a little better first? Continue the friendship we´ve started in our letters?´<p>

A slow smile started to spill across her face and he found himself releasing the breath he´d been holding in nervous anticipation of her answer.  
>´I think I´d like that a lot.´<p>

´Only…´ she frowned a little, her expression darkening. ´You´ll be leaving for Leeds in a few weeks.´

´I´ll write them to tell them I´ll decline the position they´ve offered me and stay here at Downton for a while longer,´ he answered without a moment of hesitation.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she could feel her heart skip a beat or two. ´You would do that for me?´

´Yes,´ he answered simply. But with a slight grin he added: ´Unless you run off to South Africa of course.´

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on his cheek, those dimples proving to be just too irresistible.  
>´I´m not going anywhere.´<p>

* * *

><p><strong>That´s two down… only one more chapter to go! Of course, reviews are always very much appreciated. <strong>


	22. Chapter 21

_A/N: Posting the last chapter of a story I´ve enjoyed writing so much and cleaning away my Christmas tree in one afternoon... way to bum myself out. Here it is, the final chapter, where I hope to resolve the last loose ends.  
>So much thanks go to my beta-reader stuckinpast for proofreading everything between computer issues. You´re the best!<br>The final Isobel/Timothy scene is inspired - once again - by a comment Batwings79 made in one of her reviews. Yep, it´s always your fault. *grin*  
>If you are interested to find out the content of the whispered conversation - read cookiemoi´s ´Throes of Passion.´ <em>

_One last time: enjoy! _

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><p>Chapter 21<br>**The last evening  
><strong>_July 1913_

It was the last evening before the Crawley family would return to Downton from the Season and Isobel was standing in the drawing room of Crawley House, arranging a tea set in anticipation of one last relatively relaxing evening with people she chose to spend time with.

A pair of strong arms slipped around her waist from behind and she felt herself being pulled against a warm body. Before she had the chance to turn around, Timothy was already trailing soft kisses down her neck and she just closed her eyes and tilted her head back a little to grant him better access while she enjoyed his attentions.

Eventually she did turn around in his arms and when she caught the look in his eyes, she blushed slightly. Even now, she still wasn´t completely used to the look of adoration that shone from his eyes every time he looked at her.

´I love you,´ she told him, snuggling closer against him. When she slid her hands over his chest, she could feel his heartbeat race beneath her fingers. If possible, he looked even happier and standing on his tiptoes she met him halfway as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, marvelling at the fact that three small words seemed to make him so happy.

After their ´romantic rendezvous in the washing room´ as she jokingly called it by now they had strived to get to know each other better. Them being them, taking things slowly meant that they had spent every waking moment of the next two weeks together. They found they were never without a topic to discuss. They could argue furiously about political matters, she being the revolutionary idealist that she was and him being far more practical and reasonable. Then again, he matched her passionate compassion for the downtrodden on the earth and the urge to make a difference. And even though they´d shared a lot of stories of their past already through their letters, it was quite a different thing to listen to the other one tell them. After he told her again of his childhood, her heart had ached for him as she began to realize more fully how cold and loveless his upbringing had been.

She had always been an affectionate person by nature, comfortable with touching people easily and showing her partiality. But the first time she had done anything as simple as sliding her arm through his as they were taking a walk, he hadn´t known what had happened to him.

She had been surprised by the amount of physical restrained he had displayed during these two weeks. After their first, rather steamy kiss, he had been reticent, almost a little distant towards her in the weeks that followed. Having already caught a glimpse of the passionate man beneath this cool exterior, she´d wondered very much why he was so adamant in keeping his feelings in check. Because it was obvious to her that he longed to be much closer to her. The fire that burned in his eyes whenever he looked at her was enough indication and often his tension was tangible.

So eventually, on another one of their walks, she´d asked him about it. He had slowed his pace and adverted her look, obviously searching for the right words. ´I know you still need some time…´ he began carefully. ´To discover what your feelings are.´  
>He came to a full stop and turned around, his eyes burning into hers. ´I´ll admit I´m having a hard time keeping my distance from you, Isobel,´ he confessed hoarsely. ´Perhaps it might be easier to just give in, but… I love you and I want your heart, instead of turning this into a passionate affair that will eventually burn out. I want to give you the space you need to make up your mind without any… distractions.´<p>

From that day on she had spent her nights tossing and turning, torn between her rapidly growing attachment to him and that ridiculous fear that she still had, no matter how hard she tried to reason it away. She recognized it eventually boiled down to the question whether or not she trusted him enough, even with all the securities she tried to manufacture. This issue between them had remained unresolved for a few days, until last night.

Last night they´d been talking about Imogene and she had told him how she, after her break-up with Reginald had finally landed herself a wealthy, influential finance, thus fulfilling her life-long ambition.

´She probably wouldn´t have been happy otherwise,´ he´d remarked thoughtfully, as they were making their way to the drawing room. ´She seemed very certain of what she wanted.´

´We were both very driven in our believes and ambitions,´ Isobel had replied rather drily. ´In that respect we were very much alike…´ She´d been opening the French doors to let some of the cool evening breeze in, when he had stopped her suddenly, his hand on her elbow.

´I don´t think two people could have been more different from each other then you and Imogene,´ he´d told her rather intently.

She´d laughed a little at that. ´Well, we were sisters after all. Not that I particularly like the idea, but there are bound to be some similarities.´

´You´re nothing like your sister,´ he had persisted. ´And I should have seen it months ago.´

´Don´t go there,´ she warned him gently, sensing that his guilt was rearing itself again.

´No…´ he shook his head. ´I need to say this at least once. Do you remember that time I got stabbed by that drunkard?´

She shivered unintentionally. ´Yes, I do remember.´

´The moment he had stabbed me you were in front of me, trying to reason with him,´ he said, his eyes turning soft. ´It was the most courageous, selfless, _stupid_ thing anyone had ever done for me… I know you don´t blame me any longer for how I behaved, but it´s because of this that I find it so difficult to let go… to forgive myself. I knew then that I loved you, but I should have honoured you with my trust as well. You are the complete opposite of Imogene.´

And in that moment she had known that she herself was the only one who was letting her sister stand between them. There were no guarantees that they would never have a misunderstanding or an argument again. But what she did know with absolute clarity was that she couldn´t imagine her life without the man standing in front of her anymore. Unbeknownst to him, he had said exactly what she needed to hear.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him soundly, sensing his shock. Pulling back a little, she stroked his face with both her hands. ´I love you,´ she told him, smiling at his incredulous face.

´Isobel…´ Involuntarily his hands had settled on her waist and she could feel his grip tightening slightly. ´Are you certain?´

´Yes!´ she laughed happily, planting another kiss on his lips, feeling as if she could begin to float any second now out of sheer relief. ´I´m very certain. I love you and I´m ready… unless you want to take things slowly for a while longer, of course…´

She gasped in delight as she felt him back her up against the door pillar, his hands pulling her closer still, while he captured her lips with his own.

* * *

><p>His hands were caressing her lower back, gathering up the material of her dress as he continued to devour her mouth. Finally, somewhere through the haze of his intoxicating kiss, Isobel became aware that they were no longer alone in the room. Apparently Moseley was having a most violent coughing fit. Pulling away reluctantly, she stared at him somewhat bleary-eyed.<p>

´Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes and Miss Thornton for you, ma´am,´ he said relieved, looking rather red in the face.

´Thank you, Moseley,´ she replied airily, not quite able to bring herself to looking ashamed. She grinned at Timothy who was busily straightening his waistcoat and attempting to look composed.

When the door opened and the small party entered, it was only Elsie who slightly raised an eyebrow at her. She was unable to stop herself from blushing a little, but then she almost collapsed in giggles when she heard Maureen ask Moseley in an earnest and concerned voice: ´You´re not coming down with a cold, are you, Mr Moseley?´

Moseley only blushed a little deeper and shook his head. ´No ma´am. Forgive me, ma´am, but was there any more mail for me today?´

´I´m afraid not,´ Maureen answered after some thought. ´It seems the flood of letters addressed to you has stopped.´

Moseley looked rather crestfallen at that.

A few minutes later Richard arrived. The jovial greeting he was about the utter upon entering the room died on his lips when he found Maureen sitting on one of the armchairs in front the fireplace. A much more subdued, quieter greeting followed and he looked a little helplessly around the room. Charles and Elsie were already occupying one of the sofa´s, while Timothy was sitting on the second one.

Isobel and Elsie exchanged a brief look and then Isobel steered him right into the other armchair near the fireplace.

Once everyone was seated and provided with tea, Isobel sat down on the sofa next to Timothy and sighed blissfully, realizing this was probably the most at peace and at home she´d felt here at Downton since she left Manchester.

´When will the family be returning?´ Maureen asked in the general direction of Charles and Elsie.

´Tomorrow afternoon,´ Charles replied. ´We expect them around four ´o clock and then the peace will be over.´

Richard, having recovered his senses somewhat, snorted at that. ´I wasn´t under the impression that the last months have been particularly peaceful for either of you with all this mystery and intrigue.´

Charles huffed a little at the notion of ´intrigue´ but conceded that the passed months had been very eventful.

´You´ve certainly kept me busy with all those letters,´ Maureen piped up a little shyly.

´I´ve wondered about that… did you know all along?´ Elsie was curious to know.

´I had my suspicions these last few weeks,´ Maureen answered. ´It started when I discovered there were as many letters going towards ´_The Women´s Magazine_´ as coming from there. Of course I never knew who was corresponding with whom, until all of sudden the both of you stopped receiving letters.´

She looked at Timothy and Isobel then. ´After that you were the only ones left receiving those brown and white envelopes and that´s how I figured it out.´

´That´s very clever of you,´ The admiring gaze Richard gave her made her heart flip and suddenly she was very aware of his close proximity.

´I´m still a little confused on how it all started,´ Timothy confessed then. ´I know you posted an ad,´ he looked from Isobel to Charles, ´but then you did as well?´

´Both our ads were published in the same issue,´ Charles nodded. ´Although at the time I was unsure as to what to expect from it.´

´Explaining your surprise when you received a postbag full of replies,´ Isobel teased him.

´Not quite,´ Charles smiled, ´although I admit I was surprised to find that I had received four letters in response.´

´Four?´ Elsie exclaimed in surprise. ´You´ve never told me this part… you received four letters?´

´I did,´ Charles replied. ´After reading the first three letters I thought I was the biggest fool on earth for posting and advertisement, but then I read the last letter…´ he looked at Elsie and the love in his eyes was unmistakable. ´And it was more than I could have ever wished for.´

The silence that followed his admission was suddenly broken when Maureen gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth in shock. ´I remember that day you came to pick up those letters,´ she said, her face colouring. ´I made a daft joke… asking if you´d posted a personal advertisement... oh goodness, I honestly had no idea…´ Slowly her face turned scarlet as the mortification of that moment only increased with what she knew now.

At the sight of Charles flustered state and Maureen´s apparent shock, Timothy and Richard literally howled with laughter. Eventually Charles chuckled good-natured. ´Don´t worry about it,´ he reassured Maureen. ´It was nothing compared to the stunt Richard had already pulled on me a few days earlier.´

´Me?´ Richard asked in mock alarm. What did harmless me do?´

´I was already feeling self- conscious enough about that ad to begin with,´ Charles told them wryly. ´Then one evening, as we were having a drink at Grantham´s Arms, he pulls out that magazine, telling us about the strange ad he´d found in there… I thought that would be the end of my reputation.´

More laughter ensued, but Elsie regarded the man sitting next to her with warm eyes. She knew how much of a private person he was and how he tended to condemn himself for any act that could be considered foolish, so the fact that he was able to joke about a moment that, without a doubt had been very embarrassing to him, was a tribute to how at ease he was with the people surrounding him.

´But of course I was talking about your mad ad,´ Richard grinned at Isobel. ´Although – I still do not understand what on earth made you write something as outrageous as that!´

This send both Elsie and Isobel into a fit of giggles and it took a while before they were able to explain to him how the unfortunate advertisement mishap had come about.

Then Maureen turned towards Charles and Elsie. ´So you´d been writing to each other for a while and then you decided to meet… that must have been quite a discovery?´

Glancing at Charles before she started, Elsie replied first. ´Well, it was rather messy to be honest… You must understand, Harold, the man I´d been writing to, not knowing it was Charles had already asked me to meet him, but I wasn´t certain whether or not I should say yes, because I had already been carrying a torch for Charles for quite some time… Then one evening he informs me that he´s meeting this woman I´ve never heard of before, his whole demeanour indicating that there might be looming some romance on the horizon…´

Timothy blinked in confusion. ´And I thought we had it complicated…´ he whispered softly to Isobel.

´I was very torn at what to do,´ Charles continued. ´I´d been in love with Elsie for years, but there was something about this Elisabeth… I consulted Richard and he thought I should meet her at least. When I went to that teashop in Ripon and found out that Elsie and Elisabeth were in fact the same person I couldn´t believe my eyes…´

´It´s nothing sort of a miracle that you should meet like that…´ Isobel said softly. ´Fate, really.´

´It certainly was,´ Elsie replied smiling. ´But whatever it was, I´m grateful for the outcome.´

´I would have paid good money to see both your faces as you met in that teashop,´ Richard muttered mischievously, effectively ending the tearful atmosphere.

´I wonder though,´ Timothy started. ´With the family returning tomorrow, will you tell them, or will you keep your relationship a secret?´

Immediately the mood became more serious again as all eyes turned towards the couple sitting on the couch.

´We´ve talked about this ourselves,´ Charles answered, sitting up a little straighter. ´And we´ve decided to inform his Lordship of our wish to get married as soon as possible.´

´Really?´ Isobel exclaimed joyous, jumping to her feet and hugging first Elsie and then Charles. ´Congratulations to you both… you´ll be so happy together.´ Then her face sobered somewhat. ´But what if Robert decides to let you go?´

Sitting down next to Charles again, Elsie appeared moderately calm, while considering that possibility. ´It´s a risk we´re willing to take. We´re both eager to stay at Downton and we both think we´ll manage the keep the standards we´ve maintained until now just as high when we are married. And Lord Grantham is a generous master, so I have every hope that we´ll come to a satisfactory arrangement. And if not…´ she trailed off, but Charles picked up the thread.

´If not, we´ll manage to find a way for ourselves. However, I will not stand for having to hide our relationship, degrading it to some sort of affair, afraid of getting caught every second of the day…´

´Which eventually will happen with the likes of Thomas and O´Brien in the house.´ Elsie interjected drily.

´I want to be able to marry you and for you to be able to wear your wedding band without anyone having anything to say about it.´ Charles said to her, his voice clear and determined. Elsie smiled, a lump forming in her throat. He had told her all this before of course, even more passionate and determined when he proposed to her, but hearing him echo these sentiments again, in front of their friends made her love him all the more for his honour and loyalty.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently, this proving even more to the others in the room how deeply they were committed to each other.

* * *

><p>With a busy day ahead of them, Charles and Elsie were the first to rise and say their goodbye´s, followed in their wake by Maureen and Richard. Standing next to each other in the hallway, Elsie and Isobel watched with great amusement as Richard helped Maureen into her coat.<p>

´This would be an excellent opportunity for him to offer to walk her home,´ Isobel whispered quietly to Elsie, who nodded slightly.

But to their great disappointment, Richard politely took his leave and turned into the direction of the hospital, while Maureen headed towards the postal office.

´Or not,´ Isobel grumbled frustrated. ´That settles it, I´m going to lock them up in his office first chance I get.´

´Good luck with that,´ Elsie grinned, hugging her friend.

´Good luck tomorrow,´ Isobel answered sincerely and a tad more seriously. ´Although if Robert dares to throw you out, he won´t hear the end of it.´

´It will be alright,´ Elsie said lightly. ´In many ways, it already is.´

´Of course it will be alright,´ Isobel agreed with her. ´The universe itself has conspired to get the two of you together. I very much doubt even the Dowager Countess could do anything about it.´

* * *

><p>Maureen breathed in deeply as she made her way from Crawley House towards the post office. Ever since she had succeeded Mrs Dale as postal mistress, she had also moved in the two-room apartment above the postal office. It was far from completely dark yet, the sun was still setting and numerous birds sung their evening song. Deciding that the evening was just too beautiful to pass up, she took a little detour and leisurely strolled along. She loved to walk on evenings like this, her hat in her hand, letting the past evening pass through her mind, smiling softly as she remembered the wonderful time she´d had.<p>

Briefly she wondered if her life had been very different from what it was now if ten years ago she had befriended women like Elsie Hughes or Isobel Crawley. Quickly redirecting her thoughts to a less depressing track, she grinned to herself as she contemplated how much happiness both couples had retrieved from exchanging a few honest, heart-felt letters. It was a most inspiring example really.

After her last, awkward conversation with Richard in the post office, she realized she simply had to tell him the truth about the reason why she had broken of her engagement with him all those years ago, if she ever wanted to gain his good opinion and perhaps his friendship again. By then she had already figured out that both Charles and Elsie and Isobel and Timothy were exchanging letters and she´d witness the progress this had brought to their relationship.

Deciding that her being the postal mistress meant she had absolutely no excuse not to follow their example, she had spent several long evenings at her desk, pouring all her effort and honesty in writing the longest and most difficult letter of her life.

She told him how much she had loved him. How loving him had never been the issue, not even now, but how it had been her insecurities and doubts that had ruined their relationship. Stressing that it had never been him, that he never had been amiss in his attentions or declarations towards her, she told him how she had yet never quite believed he had chosen her, amongst all the woman who´d been more than ready to throw themselves at his feet. How she had never understood what he´d seen in her, why he´d picked her, when he could have had anyone.

She told him of her regret, of how sorry she was for having hurt him. Acknowledging fully how much pain she must have caused him and that she´d been so wrapped up in her own doubt and insecurity that she hadn´t given much consideration to his feelings. She admitted how much she had missed him – missed him still and how much she regretted what she had come to regard as the biggest mistake of her life.

She had sealed the letter carefully and brought it with her tonight. At one point during the evening she had managed to excuse herself for a moment and quickly stepping into the deserted hallway, she´d slipped the letter in the pocket of his coat. After she had returned into the drawing room, her hands had been shaking and she knew she must be bright red.

Once she´d given him the letter – although unbeknownst to him – her doubt had returned full force and as she was walking home, she found she couldn´t help but fret about it. Had it really been such a good idea to write to him and reopen those wounds after all these years. He must have moved on years ago, he probably only thought of her as the spinster postal mistress who´d treated him cruelly in the past, why would she bring it all up?

When she had finished the letter she had been sure he would understand, but now she doubted that very much. She had basically told him that back then she´d let the opinions of her friends rule over his obvious actions, admitting that she couldn´t make up her own mind. How was that ever going to restore their friendship? In the past weeks they had been growing a little closer together again, he´d been able to talk to her casually again. He stopped by at the post office more and more often and she loved his unexpected brief visits.

Realizing it was getting more dark, she turned back into the direction of the village, her thoughts still mulling around in the same circle. Would he understand? Would he forgive her?

She had almost convinced herself that after her letter he would probably never look at her again, when she turned the corner to the main street where the postal office was situated. Fumbling around in the pocket of her coat, she searched for the front door key, not paying much attention to her surroundings. She didn´t look up until she was only a few feet away from the postal office and then stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in shock, her hat falling to the ground to be forgotten.

There he stood, leaning against the barrister of the porch in front of the postal office, gazing intently at her.

´Richard!´ she exclaimed, her voice rather breathless. From the fire burning in his eyes, she knew instantly that he had read her letter and she swallowed with difficulty. ´How… how did you get here so fast?´ she managed eventually.

He crossed the distance between them with two strides of his long legs and a moment later she was enfolded in his arms, pulled tightly against his chest while his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that made her forget about everything apart from the man that was currently holding her.

It had been more than ten years and yet the feel of his arms around her, his hand in her hair and his slightly musky taste was so heart-warming familiar that she relaxed instantly in his embrace and returned his kiss with all the confidence she´d gained in the last decade.

Finally he broke away, but his one arm remained securely around her, preventing her from moving away - not that she had slightest inclination of doing so. His other hand detangled itself from her hair and cupped the side of her face lovingly.

´Because I noticed you a long time before I dared to ask you to dance that first time,´ he began huskily. ´Because you have the most enchanting smile I´ve ever seen and because it took me only one evening to know you were the sweetest, most kind-hearted woman on the planet. Because you´d listen to me and I could tell you, not only when a surgery was successful, but also when I hadn´t been able to save a patient. Because you were the only person who could comfort me in moments like that. Because when I looked at you I could see the children I wanted… I could see a family. Because I loved you so much that I never really recovered when you ended our engagement…´

She sobbed helplessly, tears already pouring down her cheeks because of his passionate speech. ´I´m sorry… I´m so sorry…´

He cut off her tearful apology by kissing her again before he whispered in an equally tear-stained voice: ´No… I´m sorry… I should have known something was amiss, I should have noticed how you were feeling… I shouldn´t have left you…´

She was surprised by the hurt she heard in his voice and holding his head between her hands she forced him to look at her. ´No!´ she said with more determination that he´d ever heard her use before. ´None of this was your fault! It was me who left you and you´re not taking any blame.´ Her voice crumbled again as a fresh wave of tears overtook her. ´I love you so much and if you´ll have me back… I promise I´ll never leave you again.´

´Marry me then,´ he breathed against the skin of her cheek. His hand moved away from her face to the inside of his waist pocket. After some fumbling he pulled out a small, shining object from his pocket.

Maureen´s eyes widened and she couldn´t help but gasp in shock. ´My ring! You´ve kept it with you all this time?´

Gently he pulled the glove away from her hand. ´Will you marry me?´ he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

´Yes… yes, I will!´ she half cried, half laughed, practically falling in his arms again after he´d slid the ring on her finger, making the last ten years melt away when he lowered his head and kissed her again.

* * *

><p>When Lord Grantham was informed of the relationship between his butler and his housekeeper he sat looking clueless at his desk for a good five minutes before he finally stammered: ´But haven´t they already been married to each other for decades?´ Thus earning himself a roll of the eyes from his wife and daughters who had been a little less oblivious.<p>

After the shock had worn down however, he allowed Charles and Elsie to move into one of the cottages, Matthew taking extra good care to ensure renovations were done more than properly, partly at his mother´s insistence, but driven for the greatest part by the wish to gain some goodwill from Lady Mary who was beyond pleased – albeit slightly jealous – that her most loyal supporter had found the love of his life.

They moved in with their cat, quite ready to be content there beyond words for the rest of their lives. And only two weeks after their marriage, Elsie came home one evening from her visit to Isobel, to find Charles asleep in the armchair by the fire, Viviane purring happily in his lap.

Even before Charles and Elsie got married, Richard and Maureen did, determined not to waste another minute. In the months that followed, many inhabitants of Downton began to notice that the married state certainly increased the doctor´s tendency to overbearing protectiveness, until about six months into their marriage, his behaviour was accounted for by the swelling of Maureen´s stomach and general opinion concluded that fatherhood would become him very well.

But even before them, dispensing with any notion of taking things slowly, Isobel and Timothy married, ignoring the surprise of the community and the publicly voiced disapproval of the Dowager Countess, their mutual happiness making up for these little setbacks in generous amounts.  
>Finally able to let go off all restraint, one night, when they were lying in bed together and Isobel was idly tracing the faint, silvery scar on his stomach with her fingertips, Timothy was able to tell her just how much he had been affected by her touch at that time. Which lead to a whispered confession of the many dreams and fantasies he had entertained after that fateful afternoon. Which lead to a very passionate realization of most of them.<p>

However, the first wedding of that autumn, barely a month after the return of the family from London was that of Mr Alfred Moseley to a Miss Ethel Parks.  
>His happiness was boundless. As was the relief of the editorial staff at ´<em>A Woman´s Magazine<em>´.

As the year continued, the three couples manage to spend time together, despite their different and busy activities. Whether it was their shared involvement with the Downton Fire Brigade – or the Downton Fire Brigade Appreciation Committee, nights at the Grantham Arms or endless tea sessions, they used it to strengthen their friendship.

After the marriage of Miss Thornton, Downton acquired itself another postal mistress, who, in the years that followed noticed a distinguished increase of letters being exchanged around the month of July, for the three couples honoured the tradition of restoring to mail every once a year to just to reinforce their love for each other.

The End

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><p><strong>And that was three.<br>Thank you all for your lovely reviews, they´ve really made my day every time. **


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